A Prince's Pride

*Milo*

I can’t believe it. Even as I stare at the body of Theodore Heris, I can’t believe he’s truly dead.

“No, it’s not true!” Aaron’s anguished shout is like a dagger in my heart. He grabs fistfuls of his father’s shirt and shakes him. “Father! Father!” he shouts, shaking him again. “Dad…” his voice breaks and he buries his face in his father’s shoulder. “Dad, please…no…”

“Your Majesty,” says Oswald, and I’m confused. The King is dead. Why is he trying to talk to him?

Then, realization hits me. The moment his father died, Aaron ascended the throne.

Aaron is now King of Midoor.

“Don’t call me that,” Aaron says.

“Please, Your Maj—”

“Don’t call me that!” Aaron roars, looking up at Oswald, who looks at me imploringly.

I walk over and crouch next to Aaron, placing my hand on his shoulder as a friend would do. I want to do so much more, but I know I can’t. He looks at me, his eyes wide and filled with tears. He looks like he doesn’t know where he is or what to do. I see the question in his eyes and I somehow know he won’t believe it unless he hears it from me.

“We have to get you to safety,” I pause, knowing how much this will hurt him, “Your Majesty.”

He gasps as his face twists in misery. As if he only just realized his father was dead.

“Milo is right, Your Majesty,” says Oswald, and this time Aaron doesn’t shout at him. “We should head to the bunker, like your father had planned.”

I stand and Aaron follows suit, then looks down at his father’s body. He closes his eyes and wipes the blood and tears from his face. After several deep breaths, he looks around at us all, his face resolute, but I see the pain in his eyes.

“You two,” he says, pointing to two Crown Guards, “take my father’s body and hide it somewhere. I do not want it defiled, should it be found. The rest of you, let’s make our way to the king’s…to my…bunker. Milo, you’re to stay with us. Delgara, you are to protect Milo as you would me.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the guards and I say together.

As a group, we head out into the courtyard. Aaron and I are in the middle, Oswald on Aaron’s left, Delgara on my right, the rest of the guards circling us. Everyone’s eyes scan the top of the walls, wary of more archers, but we see no one up there.

Delgara is practically stepping on me as he escorts me and I know why. He feels he’s let the Crown down by letting the King die, but I know better, and I’m sure Aaron does, too. The King died saving his son.

I can’t help but think about what the King had said with his dying breath. He had looked at me and told Aaron to follow his heart, had called me a good lad. Does he know about me and Aaron? Does this mean he approved of us? There’s no time to ask Aaron, nor would I. He needs time to grieve.

The king’s bunker has a hidden entrance under the fountain in the northern courtyard. I don’t want to go there, but we don’t have a choice. The northern courtyard has a large marble fountain sitting in its center, a pathway of marble stones leading up to it and several marble statues set around it.

My eyes can’t help but snap to Corianne’s broken body, laying at the base of the tower. Aaron glances at her, but nobody says anything.

We approach the fountain. It's huge, with a large rectangular prism set into the middle with jets of water shooting out around it. A small platform extends from the edge of the fountain to the prism in the center. Aaron walks up to it.

"Your key, Sir Oswald?" asks Aaron, holding out his hand. Oswald digs into his armor and pulls out a thin piece of metal. I know from my training that he and Aaron both have half keys. Together, they form a whole key to open the lock in the prism.

Aaron puts the key into a crevice. The marble prism is covered with cracks running along its surface. I've never seen it this close up before. The hole where the key is in doesn't look like a hole at all, but when Aaron turns it, there's a loud clunk from below. Together with Oswald, Aaron pushes the prism backward, revealing a staircase descending below.

Three of the six Crown Guards, Oswald, Aaron, and I descend the steps into the bunker. The two remaining guards must stay behind to push the prism back in place.

When we're at the bottom of the stairs, I look back as the last sliver of daylight disappears as the prism slides back into place.

Hours pass as we sit in the bunker. Aaron alternates between sitting in one of the chairs and pacing back and forth through the small space.

"I should be out there, fighting," says Aaron after he's paced for a few minutes.

"That wouldn't be wise, Your Majesty," says Oswald sounding bored. This is the third time he's had to talk him out of leaving the bunker. "Your emotions are clouding your judgment."

"And if I order you to let me leave?"

I sit up a little straighter at this. He hasn't said this yet.

"I would never disobey a direct order, my king," he says. "But I do advise against it."

"Fine, then I order—"

"Aaron, no," I say. Everyone looks at me. "Your Majesty, it would be foolish to go outside the bunker. Midoor needs its king, and so do we."

He looks defeated as he retakes his seat. I watch him as he hunches over, his head in his hands.

I don't know why, but my mind wanders to when I first met Aaron.

*2 years ago*

*Milo*

I've never been in the Upper Ring until today, let alone the Grand Palace. I've been living in the Lower Ring of the city since I moved here a year ago. I had originally planned on moving to the Middle Ring, but the rent was too pricey for my taste.

When I heard there was a position open in the palace for a servant, I jumped on it. I spent two years taking care of my parents as they lay sick in bed. Taking care of a healthy prince should be no problem at all.

When I walk through the gates of the Grand Palace, I look up at the towers scraping the heavens. The tallest of all is the tower on the northern side of the palace. I think briefly of how horrible it would be to fall from the top.

“Are you here for the Royal Attendant position?” asks a guard, drawing my attention away from North Tower.

“I am,” I say. “My name is Milo Trainor and—”

“No offense, kid,” says the guard, “but I can’t learn all of your names. Follow me to the throne room. The Prince and the King are seeing the applicants there.”

As I follow her, my excitement and nervousness begin to mount. I don’t think I need to be nervous, really. I’ve passed all the other requirements. In order to qualify for this position, I’ve had to work part time as a servant for other lords and ladies of the court.

Several of them have offered me positions in there own houses if the Royal Attendant gig doesn’t work out, but I hope it does. Not only does this job pay way more than any other servant position, it comes with an apartment in the Upper Ring with one year paid for by the Crown.

I have a good feeling about this, no matter how nervous I am. I’ve had to work as a servant in addition to my job in the clothing shop to pay for my Lower Ring apartment and work my way toward this positon. How many others could have qualified?

When I see the line trailing from the throne room door to the end of the corridor, I feel my heart sink slightly. I quit my job at the clothing store for this. If it doesn’t work out, how will I afford my place?

I soon realize that the Prince is much choosier about his servant than I could have anticipated. Several of the applicants are only in the throne room for a few seconds before they’re sent out, some of them crying. I imagine they, like me, have worked for other houses to make it here. Some of the jobs I was given by the more sadistic lords of the court…I wouldn’t want to return to most of them.

As the line dwindles and I grow closer to the throne room, more potential servants file in behind me. Eventually, I can hear voices coming from the throne room. One, a deeper male’s voice, I assume is the King. The other must be the Prince.

“Nope!” the Prince says when a young girl turns to enter. She hadn’t even stepped foot in the throne room when she was dismissed. She looks angry. I don’t blame her. “Next!”

An older man walks in and begins to speak.

“My prince, I am honored to have the chance to—”

“Jog around the throne room for me,” says the Prince, cutting the man off. A moment later, hear the man jogging and it isn’t long before he’s clearly winded. “Nope! Next!”

On and on it goes, most people being dismissed quickly. I soon realize that every single woman who walks in is dismissed almost at once. Maybe the Prince is looking for a male servant?

An older woman walks in and the Prince says, “I won’t have her bathing me. Next!”

“We have to bathe him?” a woman behind me whispers in disgust. I glance around and notice that two of the applicants in front of me and several behind me leave the line, shaking their heads. Most of them are women.

I personally don’t care what the Prince requires of me. If I can wash my father’s balls, I can wash his.

It’s my turn next. I’m slightly nervous about the two guards flanking the doors, though they take no notice of me other than one who holds her hand up, halting me.

“Aaron,” says the King’s voice, “you have to pick a servant today. This is getting ridiculous. What are you even looking for?”

“I’ll know it when I see it, Father,” says Prince Aaron. “Next!”

I walk into the throne room and see King Theodore sitting on his throne. I’ve seen depictions of him on banners throughout the kingdom before. His lined face, graying hair, and regal manner were somehow perfectly captured by the artist.

As I make my way up to the dais on which their thrones sit, I look at Aaron and almost gasp aloud. His face, too, I have seen in depictions, but the artist didn’t capture his beauty. Medium-length, shaggy brown hair, shining blue eyes, a sharp jawline. He isn’t looking at me currently, but looking up at the ceiling, his face showing boredom.

When he looks at me, it’s as if his eyes pierce right through me. As if he sees me, like I’ve never been seen before.

“Your Majesty,” I say, bowing to the King, then, “Your Highness,” I say as I bow to Prince Aaron.

“What about this boy?” says the King. “Just pick someone today.”

“Fine, Father,” says Prince Aaron in an offhand voice, although he’s looking at me with interest now. “I choose him. You’re now my Royal Attendant.”

“Finally,” says the King. “Take him to your room, give him his instruction, and I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Follow me,” says the Prince, stepping down the dais from his throne.

“Of course, Your Highness,” I say. I can barely believe my luck. I didn’t even have to try.

I’m walking behind Prince Aaron, following him to his room. Trying to impress, I keep my back straight, my head forward. His sworn protector, who introduced himself as Sir Henry Oswald, seems about as relaxed as I am, which is to say not at all, but in a different way. His head swings back and forth and even up as he looks at the ceiling. Who is he expecting to find up there?

When we get to Prince Aaron’s chambers, Oswald does a quick visual sweep of the room while the Prince stands by, looking annoyed. I can’t help but feel a jolt of excitement at the look on his face. His annoyed face is so adorable.

No, I can’t allow myself to think of the Prince that way.

When Sir Oswald leaves us, Prince Aaron looks at me. Having never actually been in the presence of a royal before today, I don’t know how to act, so I decide on as formal as possible. I throw myself into a ridiculously low bow.

“Your Highness, it is an honor to be your Royal Attendant,” I say to the ground. “I assure you that I will serve you to the utmost—”

I stop talking and stand up straight when Prince Aaron starts to laugh.

“You can chill out on all that, dude,” he says. I look at him, confused, blinking rapidly for a moment.

“I don’t give a damn about all that formal crap. If I did, I’d have chosen one of the first two hundred servants my father brought in front of me.”

“Oh,” I say, feeling embarrassed. “If I may, Your Highness—”

“It’s Aaron,” he says, cutting me off again.

“Sorry, Prince Aaron, I—”

“Just Aaron. You should refer to me as all that hoity-toity crap around my father and certain members of the court, but when we’re alone, just call me Aaron.”

“Okay,” I say, feeling a strange swelling mixture of anxiety and excitement, “Aaron.”

“So here’s the thing,” says Aaron, “I know I’m the prince and all that junk, but I don’t really care about having a servant. I can clean for myself and bathe myself, and everything. What I really want is a friend.”

“Surely, you have no shortage of friends, Your—” he raises his eyebrows at me, “Aaron.”

“I have royal friends. I have court friends. I have friends whose parents are eager to earn my father’s favor. None of them are truly my friends.”

This takes me aback. He’s the Prince of Midoor. He’s surrounded by people, but I can somehow see the loneliness in his eyes.

“People only want to be friends with me for political gain,” continues Aaron. “There are, like, two of them that really seem like friends to me.”

The way Aaron speaks when it’s just the two of us is weird to me. He doesn’t sound like a prince at all. He sounds like a nineteen-year-old boy, which I guess he technically is.

Over the next hour, Aaron gives me my instructions. While he doesn’t like the idea of people cleaning up after him, I’m still to do it enough to earn my pay and to keep up appearances when other servants, guards, members of court, or his family are present.

“Here,” he says when he feels I’ve gotten a pretty good understanding of my job’s duties. He’s holding out a leather pouch. When I take it from him and open it, I see it’s full of gold, silver, and copper coins. I can’t help it; my jaw drops open. This is more money than I’ve earned in the last three years combined.

“But, Your—” he raises his eyebrows at me, “Aaron,” I say apologetically before continuing, “I haven’t even done any work.”

“We pay our servants in advance. We find it encourages them to put forth their best work. You’re not planning on skipping out on me, are you?”

“No, sir,” I say, but he doesn’t seem perturbed by this formality.

“Good. Now, I’ll have Sir Oswald escort you to your new apartment in the Upper Ring.”

“Aaron, do you know of anyone who could help me move my things? My bed will probably—”

“I would just leave your bed, if I were you,” he says. “The apartment is completely furnished. Just go get your clothes and personal belongings. I’ll see you at seven in the morning.”

I nod, grinning, and leave Aaron’s room.

It doesn’t take me long to get my stuff from the dingy little apartment in the Lower Ring up to my new apartment. When I walk in, I feel my jaw drop for the second time that day.

My old apartment had one room that comprised the bedroom and kitchen together, with a small bathroom that was more of a closet than an actual room. The living room in this apartment could fit my entire old apartment inside it comfortably. The bathroom is much larger, the kitchen is a separate room, and the bedroom is massive, compared to what I’m used to.

I lay down on the bed and see Aaron was right. This bed feels like clouds. That night, I’m unable to fall asleep. Tomorrow, I’ll be starting my new job. I have a new apartment in a better part of the city. And, although I was worried about serving a prince, Aaron seems like an alright guy.

The next morning, I arrive at Aaron’s room right before seven o’clock to find a guard, who isn’t Oswald, standing outside it.

“‘Morning!” the guard says to me happily. “You must be Milo. I work the early morning shift for the Prince while Oswald gets some sleep. I’ll see you most mornings. The name’s William Todd.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say, although I’m looking at the door, which is closed. “Is he not awake yet?”

“Nobody told you? The Prince is notoriously hard to get out of bed. It’s going to be the most challenging part of your day. Go on in, although now that you’re here, I can leave. Good day!” And without another word, the guard walks away. Wait…what was his name? I try to remember for a moment, but can’t.

I knock on Aaron’s door. Nothing. I try again, putting my head closer to the door to see if I can hear him moving around, but all is silent.

“Prince Aaron?” I call out, knocking again. No response. I glance up and down the corridor, hoping to find a guard and ask them if I can just go in. The last thing I want to do is walk in on Aaron jerking off or something.

An image of Aaron stroking his cock pops into my head suddenly and I feel a strange twinge of excitement and shame. I shouldn’t be imagining my new boss beating his meat. I shake my head to erase the image.

I knock several more times, calling out his name, but there isn’t an answer. I look at my watch. I’ve been here for twenty minutes. I throw caution to the wind and walk into Aaron’s room, flipping on the lights and closing the door behind me.

Aaron groans and pulls his covers up over his head.

“Good morning, Prince Aaron,” I say, walking over to him. He groans beneath the covers. I can tell he’s laying on his side by the imprint of his body under the sheets.

“Aaron?” He groans again.

“It’s time to get up.” Groan.

I’m getting frustrated. I grab the edge of the covers, and see the middle ball as he grabs them in his fist. We have a silent but furious tug of war game over the sheets.

I know he’s stronger than me, but he’s groggy. I’m able to wrench the sheets from his hand and fling them from his body.

And he’s naked. Prince Aaron lays before me, on his side, completely naked. He rolls over onto his back and looks up at me with groggy anger on his face, but I’m not looking there.

I’m looking at his seven-and-a-half inch cock, which is currently standing straight up, rock hard from what I assume is morning wood. Aaron makes no move to cover himself up.

“Gods, Your Highness,” I say, turning my back on him. “I’m so sorry. When the guard told me how hard it would be—” I gasp at what I’m saying, “—not it, would be, Your Highness, just how hard it would be to wake you up, I thought I’d…well…”

“Milo, it’s fine,” says Aaron. I hear him standing and look back at him. He’s still completely naked, and entirely unperturbed about me looking at him. He walks into his bathroom, still completely rock hard. I see him lean and place his hand on the wall so he can point his cock at the toilet to relieve himself.

As he walks back toward me, I can see in my peripheral vision his cock start to deflate. I can’t help but sneak glances at it when I know he isn’t looking. He’s walking around his room as if looking for something, but I can’t tell what.

“What am I looking for?” he asks me, but I just shrug. “Fuck, I’m useless in the morning. Can you help me dress, please?”

I nod and walk over to his dresser, then pull out underwear, a shirt, pants, and a pair of socks. I distinctly remember Aaron saying he could dress himself, but he still has me help him into his clothes. He’s uncooperative and unbalanced as if he’s sleepwalking. My Gods, what if he’s sleepwalking right now?

“You are awake, aren’t you, my prince?”

“I told you not to call me that,” he says, rolling his eyes. I don’t know why, but his annoyance gives me an odd sense of pleasure.

Once he’s dressed, he’s smoothing his hands over his ass and holy fuck, I didn’t realize how nice his ass is. It’s round and looks firm. He keeps feeling his right cheek for some reason.

“I think there’s something wrong with these pants,” he says. “Feel right here,” he says, rubbing the cheek again. “Do you feel something strange?”

“I’m not sure if I should—”

“Just do it, Milo,” he says. I reach out and cup his right ass cheek. I was right; it is firm. I feel my cock twitch in my pants and have to exercise great control not to squeeze my fingers. I rub the spot he was, but I feel nothing except the blood pumping into my dick.

“It…it feels fine, Aaron,” I say.

“Just there,” he says, wiggling his butt. He pushes his ass back into my hand and I can’t help it. My hand clenches slightly. “Yes, right there,” he says. Then I do feel it. There’s an odd bump in the fabric.

“I do feel it,” I say. “I don’t know what it is.”

“Oh well,” says Aaron, walking toward the door. I take the moment he’s not looking at me to flip my now rock hard cock up into the waistband of my pants.

Over the next few weeks, I never knew if Aaron was doing these things on purpose, or if it was supposed to be part of my job, but these occurrences happened more and with increasing frequency.

Aaron asking me to check for supposed spots in private places that were never there. Aaron sitting on my lap after he “accidentally” spilled water on his chair. Aaron having me smooth his clothes unnecessarily as if he wanted me to touch him. And all the while, he flexed his abs any time his shirt was off. Was he doing this to show off to me, or was he doing it because he was vain?

I realized the truth when Aaron came back into his room, clearly tired and bruised. He’d been down in the yard, training with sword and shield. It’s nighttime now and Aaron has already eaten dinner. The time since his training has allowed the bruises to blossom.

Aaron walks over to his favorite chair and strips down, leaving only his underwear on.

“Milo, would you ice my bruises, please?” he asks. I leave and fetch some ice and a cloth from the kitchen. I fashion the rags into a makeshift ice pack and start icing his bruises. He’s rubbing his legs as if to massage them, but he’s doing it poorly.

“Allow me,” I say, moving to my knees in front of him. He stretches out a leg and I start to massage, starting at his calf and slowly working my way up.

“Higher,” he says. I inch up. “Higher.” Again, my hands climb up his leg, now at his knee. “Higher.” I’m at his thigh. “Higher.” My hand is now so close to his underwear, I’m able to see his bulge in them as it stiffens.

“Higher,” he says. My excitement mounts. I’ve been hoping for this, in the back of my head. I reach out for his cock, but his hand closes over mine.

He says, “I don’t want you to do this.” Gods, was I wrong? Is this not what he wanted? “Not unless you want to. Don’t do this because I’m your prince or your boss. I want you to do this because you want to. Your job will not be in jeopardy if you choose not to.”

“I want to,” I say, almost at once. He smiles and moves his hand away.

I reach up and pull his underwear down. He lifts his ass to help me. His cock is rock hard now. I take it in my hand and feel how warm it is. I think he just expects a handjob because, when my mouth closes around the head, he lets out a surprised gasp, which turns into a moan as I swallow him down in one motion.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasps as I work his cock with my mouth, the taste of his sweet precum dancing on my tongue. I look up at him and the lust in his eyes are surely mirrored in my own.

This isn’t the first cock I’ve sucked, but there’s something about this time. About him. I feel an urge to please him in a way nobody ever has.

I work his cock with my throat and he groans as my tongue expertly works him over. His hands grip the armrests of the chair as I cup his balls in my other hand.

“Don’t stop,” he begs in a gasp. I wasn’t planning to. He winces slightly as his sore body jerks in the chair under my manipulations. He stands, my cock still in his mouth, grabs the sides of my head, and starts fucking my face. I open my throat and pool as much saliva as I can muster.

“Oh, Gods, you’re so good at this,” he says. I feel his body shudder as I suck harder and harder on his cock. When he explodes inside my mouth, I swallow every drop of his royal seed.

He pulls me up and kisses me and I know, in that moment, that I’m in love with him. I’ve barely known him for three weeks and I’m already lost in him.

“I want you to fuck me,” he says, “right now.”

“You’re a bottom?” I ask, slightly surprised.

“Do you want to ask stupid questions, or do you want to fuck my ass?”

I smile at him as he pulls me towards his bed.

*Present Day*

*Aaron*

I'm fuming. There's a part in me that knows Milo and Oswald are right. Going out there in the state I’m in would be foolish, but there’s another part of me fighting to take control. I want to get out there, I want to end Red Hand and Lower Reach soldiers’ lives with my bare hands.

But I don’t. Every time I look at Milo, I imagine him feeling what I’m feeling now for my father and I couldn’t stand to put him in that position. Not to mention, my mother and my sister as well. I still don’t know where they’re at, but I’ll find out when we leave that door.

I don’t know exactly how long we’re in the bunker for. Some of my guards fall asleep, and so does Milo. I know sleep won’t come to me.

Suddenly, three short, loud klaxon sounds ring out, followed by a five second silence, then three more. This pattern repeats five times. It’s the all clear. My soldiers and Milo stir and begin to stand, stretching their aching limbs.

“Do you think it’s a genuine all clear?” Oswald asks. I suppose my guards could have been captured, forced to fake an all clear, but there’s only one way to find out.

“Oswald, Delgara,” I say, “open the door.”

When we reach the top of the stairs and file out into the courtyard, we realize we’re surrounded by guards of the Lower Reach and members of the Red Hand.

“Hello, Your Highness,” says Criston, a dark smile curling his lips. “Or should I say, Your Majesty?”