A Prince's Pride

*Aaron*

Oswald’s going to be angry when he discovers I’ve snuck out of the palace and gone down to Milo’s, but I don’t care. Today is a big day and I’m stressing out, but trying not to show it. Although, at the moment, I’m not worried about Oswald or what’s happening today. My only focus is moaning into Milo’s bed while his tongue expertly navigates my hole. 

I feel his tongue slide in and out of my hole, spreading the opening further with each plunge. My hands have balled up fistfuls of his covers as I groan in pleasure.

“Milo,” I gasp, raising my head up. “We have to be quick, I—” but I let out an involuntary gasp of pleasure as his teeth sink into my ass cheek. He goes back to work on my hole and I feel my body shaking. He’s never eaten my ass like this before, his tongue working me so perfectly.

When his mouth leaves my skin, I feel a slight pang of remorse that’s replaced by pleasure as I feel two of his fingers slide in. He grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls me up so my back is pressed into his stomach, his hard cock pressing my ass cheek. His hand slides to my throat and squeezes gently as his fingers massage my prostate. With each press, my cock bounces before me, precum leaking from its tip.

“Shhh,” he whispers in my ear before biting the lobe and swirling his tongue over it. “It’s just us right now.”

I reach back and grab his cock in my hand and start stroking. 

“That’s it, Your Majesty,” he says. “Just relax.”

And it’s much easier to relax when we’re like this. I pull myself away from him, wishing his fingers were still inside me, but I drop down and suck his cock into my mouth.

“Oh, fuck, Aaron, fuck yes,” he moans as I pull him into my throat. I push him back onto his back and start to suck him off, coating his cock in as much saliva as I can muster.

“When I’m done here,” I say, pulling back for a moment, the taste of his precum on my tongue, “you’re going to fuck me harder than you ever have before.” I suck him back down and coat him as much as I can. When I pull back, Milo takes over. He stands up, wraps his arms around me, and picks me up, which is something I wasn’t aware he could do. He slams me up against the wall, holding me up under my knees, and thrusts his cock into me.

I can’t help the loud moan that escapes me, but Milo silences it with his mouth, then starts pounding my ass harder than he ever has before. His cock is a conductor, my prostate its orchestra, sending waves and waves of beautiful music over me as he pounds my ass into oblivion. I’m gasping, my eyes rolling into my head as our tongues dance in each other’s mouths. 

He pulls his mouth away from mine and whispers, “You like that, Your Majesty?”

“Best…servant…ever…” I say in between each thrust, a playful smile on my lips. 

It always amazes me how Milo can make me cum without touching my cock. Just his dick in my ass is enough. I feel the orgasm coming and squeeze my asshole shut. I want us to cum together, and I get my wish. Milo’s thrusting becomes erratic and, as he thrusts into me and I feel his cock unleash inside me, my own cock sprays my chest with cum. 

Milo moves me over to the bed, still inside me and deposits me down. He pulls out long enough to lick up my seed, then plunges his cock back into me and fucks me as hard as before as we make out with my cum on our lips.

*Milo*

Today is the day of Aaron’s coronation. Though he’s been king for nearly four weeks now, with everything that’s been going on, there hasn’t been time. Not to mention, Delgara absolutely refused to let him get coronated until he made one hundred percent sure that security was figured out. I understand why, but I think he’s going overboard. He actually convinced General Pallenore to recall some troops from the southern border to be here.

I find it ironic that Aaron, who seems to want to defy every piece of tradition in Midoorian history, wants to cling to the tradition of having his coronation in the palace square. This square is surrounded by high walls, set right outside the palace gates. I suppose it’s because his father was also coronated here.

I’m standing outside beside the dais that’s been erected, Aaron at my side. He’s barking orders at servants and listening to reports at the same time. He’s been so busy, but I’m happy he made time to come see me this morning. He was worried about Oswald, but the Crown Guard merely sook his head in disapproval and didn’t say anything. Really, we got off easy.

It’s several hours before the coronation commences and it goes off without a hitch. I stand beside the throne that’s been placed on the dais, which is surrounded by people. A line of soldiers stands between the gawping people and Aaron. Most of them are cheering, but not all.

In the back, near the palace gates, stands a group of protesters with signs that spell horrible things in great, black letters. I’m guessing they don’t want to use red, in case they’re accused of being members of the Red Hand.

King of Evil

Gays Burn in the Hells

Kingdom of Degenerates

Aaron says the signs don’t bother him, and assures his Council that the rumors are baseless. They’re still saying Criston is spreading the rumors about us and have suggested Aaron fire me as his servant and choose a new Royal Attendant, but he refused point blank. He used the excuse that it’s hard to find new people to trust and, as the old king was murdered a mere month ago, trying to find someone who is trustworthy would be a difficult task.

As Aaron approaches the dais wearing his most regal uniform, I glance up at the window to Queen Eliane’s room. She’s standing there, staring down at us, but her eyes dart around the square and her room every few seconds, as though she expects someone to appear on the wall and shoot an arrow at her son. I don’t think the Red Hand will attack today. 

Aaron glances at me, a smile on his face, before turning to the crowd. I’m holding a pillow on which rests his new crown, the one his father used to wear. 

Archibald Prefect, the High Court Grand Master, stands at the end of the dais. He’s at least 100 years old and extremely wrinkly, as though he had been soaking in a tub for a year. Still, when he opens his mouth and beings to speak, the crowd falls silent, and his deep booming voice surely reaches the ears of all in attendance.

“Welcome, all,” he says, “to the coronation of His Royal Majesty, Aaron Heris, King of Midoor. King Aaron is the 75th king reigning over Midoor from the Heris line. His house is strong, his will is pure, and his line will continue for the rest of time, as it was prophesied so long ago.”

I almost snort at that. For his line to continue, Aaron would have to father a child. That’ll never happen.

“Your Majesty, if you please,” says Archibald as he creeps his way down the steps.

Aaron kneels before him, places his right fist over his heart, and looks up into that lined and wrinkled face.

“Do you, Aaron Heris, King of Midoor, swear on your life and soul to uphold the laws of Midoor with a fair and just hand?”

“I swear it,” says Aaron.

“And will you, to the best of your ability, guide and protect Midoor from those, within or without, who would seek to disparage the ideals of our great nation?”

“I will.”

“And will you, for so long as you shall live, uphold the traditions of Midoor, as set forth by the Heris Royal Family Charter, lest you, by your grace, find those ideals to be odds with current states of affairs?”

“I will.”

“Then it is my great pleasure to officially declare your ascension to the throne. The crown, if you please, Milo.”

I walk down the steps and hold the pillow out to the Grand Master. This is the only time someone other than a Royal Attendant or a royal themselves will touch this crown until the next coronation.

The Grand Master places the crown on Aaron’s head and turns to the throne. 

“Rise, now, Aaron Heris, King of Midoor.”

Aaron raises slowly and turns to the crowd, his head turning as he scans them. I can’t see his face, but I see the moment his head stops as his eyes linger on the protesters in the back.

“All hail the King!” the Grand Master calls out.

“Long live the King! Long live the King!” the crowd shouts, but their shouts are punctuated by boos and catcalls from the protesters.

“Watch out!” yells a guard. Something comes flying through the air and hits Aaron on the head. He falls to his knees. I rush forward, looking at him, and see the object on the ground. It’s a large rock with red letters spelling out the word FAGGOT on it. 

I look up to see the crowd part as the man who threw it is dragged forward by two Crown Guards. At that moment, the protesters break apart and run from the square. None of the guards pursue them. 

I look back at Aaron and see a trickle of blood running down the side of his face. The rock caught him on the brow, just below where his crown sits. By the time I turn back to the man who threw the rock, I see him being deposited roughly onto the ground before Aaron’s feet.

“It was he who threw the rock, Your Majesty,” says one of the Crown Guards standing next to the man. He had to shout over the crowd jeering at the man on the ground.

“He attacked the King!” shouts a man in the crowd.

“That’s treason, that is!” shouts another.

“Off with his head!” shouts a woman.

“Take him to the dungeons!” shouts Aaron over the crowd. While the Crown Guards drag the man away, Aaron lifts his hands up and the crowd falls silent.

“Thank you all for your support. I promise to be a kind and just king,” he says. I can tell he’s trying to be loud and kingly, but he seems slightly dazed.

“What are you going to do with that filth?” demands the first man who shouted. He’s standing right at the front.

“I have not yet decided. Please, I have this matter under control. Thank you for attending my coronation. Do not let this mar this happy occasion. The carnival has come to Crown City in celebration of my coronation and has set up in the Great Field just down the road. I will see all of you there!”

*Aaron*

I let out a hiss as Zelda Offrand presses a rag dabbed with disinfectant on the wound above my eye. She’s already cleaned the blood and declared the wound “superficial.”

“It could have been a lot worse. Thankfully, the crown took most of the hit.”

“The crown was damaged?” I ask, outraged. I shoot a look at Milo. It was he who pulled the crown from my head.

“It has a small dent in it, Your Majesty,” he says. “I wanted to wait until we knew you were okay before I told you.”

Offrand gives Milo an odd look, but I don't know what it means. I don't have time to dwell on it, though. 

"Your Majesty," says Sir Oswald, "are you sure you should attend the carnival tonight? After all, you were attacked today."

"It was a rock, Oswald. I'm fine. I want to attend the carnival, the king always attends the carnival."

"Yes, Your Majesty, but think of the dangers."

"Are you saying my Crown Guards are unable to protect me?" I ask. 

"Of course not, my king."

"That's enough, Offrand," I say. "I will be fine." 

I stand from the examination table, wave for Milo to follow me, and we walk out the door with Oswald on our heels. 

***

Later that night, against Oswald’s and Delgara’s wishes, I find myself walking toward the Coronation Carnival with Oswald, Milo, and a group of eight Crown Guards. I think it’s overkill, but I refused, flat out, to let Delgara send me with the original fifteen he wanted to.

I’ve ridden past this field several times in my lifetime. Before, it was an open plain with wildflowers everywhere. Now, at least a hundred people mill about, playing carnival games, eating food, drinking beer and wine, and watching fire performers.

I see a dart throwing booth, where several multicolored balloons are tied to a wall. 

“Come on,” I say to my entourage and head straight for the darts booth.

“Welcome, welcome!” a large, short man calls out to me genially as I approach. “A grand welcome indeed to you, Your Majesty! Care to try your hand at throwing darts? Only five silver crowns!”

“Yeah!” I say enthusiastically, digging for my money in my pocket and handing the coins over.

“Very good, sir, very good! Here are the rules of the game: the small red balloons are worth five points, the bigger blue ones are worth four, the even bigger green are worth three, and those largest yellow are worth two. The number of points you receive with four darts indicates which prize shelf you can pick your prize from.” 

He indicates shelves off to the side of the booth where numbers are painted on the front. I see immediately what I want. A stuffed animal of a racoon sits on a shelf with the number 15 on it.

“Very well, let’s give it a go,” I say, grabbing the darts from the man.

I aim my first dart at one of the blue balloons, throw, and hit a red one my mistake. Five points to me!

“Oh, great job, Your Majesty!” says Milo. My heart swells at his praise.

I aim my second dart at another red one. If I can get to ten points, I only need five more to get the racoon. My aim is true on this one, and I earn three more points, putting me at ten!

“Oh, we’ve got ourselves a true marksman here!” calls the man, laughing heartily. I turn behind me and see a group of citizens watching. I feel the pressure mounting. I can’t miss a single shot.

I take aim, this time at a yellow balloon, and hit it easily. The crowd cheers for me. I only need three more points, but I want to impress not only the crowd, but Milo, too, so I am for a red. My eyes lock on the stretched latex of the balloon. I take a deep breath and throw.

As the red balloon bursts, the crowd cheers again and I feel Milo’s desire to clutch my arm. I’m so happy, I could burst.

“Well, Your Majesty, you have seventeen points, so you can choose anything from shelf 15 or down. What’ll it be?”

“I’ll take the stuffed racoon, please.”

“Here you are, then, I’m sure the lady you bestow this upon will be delighted.”

I grab it from him with a thanks and look at it. It’s expertly crafted, its eyes large to emphasis the cuteness.

“Here you go, Milo,” I say, holding it out to him. “Hold on to this for me, will you?”

He beams, knowing I won it for him. Racoons are Milo’s favorite animal.

We meander through the rest of the carnival, stopping to watch a group of fire performers spin fire hoops, poi, and fire darts, one of them even spits a great spout of fire into the air, causing Oswald to nearly tackle me to the ground. When we come across a fortune teller tent, my interest is piqued. 

“Ah, Your Majesty,” says an old crone in a high and weezy voice, standing outside the tent. She’s wearing a black robe and stands with a hunch, her back curved. “I knew you’d be coming, of course.” 

I smile at her pleasantly. I don’t believe in any of this stuff as my father had. Magic isn’t real. Although, truth be told, he didn’t believe in fortune telling either, so when he outlawed magic, he didn’t see a need to ban fortune telling. 

“Care to have your fortune read?”

“Yeah, alright,” I say, but Oswald holds a hand out to stop me.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go in there alone, my king,” he says.

“By all means, bring your most trusted guard within,” says the crone, “and surround my tent with the others if you’re so worried. I will not, however, harm the king. It is not his destiny to die by my hand.”

“It’s harmless, Oswald, let’s go.” 

I glance at Milo and am shocked to see he looks worried.

“It’s okay,” I tell him, knowing he’s probably worried about my safety. Oswald and I duck into the tent where we find a small table. Wooden slats have been erected around, creating a barrier between the inside and outsides of the tent.

“Don’t worry about those,” says the crone, “they’re just to ensure my customer’s privacy. I charge three silver crowns for a reading, but I am willing to do you for free, Your Majesty.”

“No, no, I’ll pay,” I say, handing over the coins.

“Come.” I follow her to the table and sit on the opposite side of her. “Give me your hand.” As I reach out to her, I can feel Oswald tense beside me. I ignore him. 

When the Crone wraps her hand around mine, I experience an odd sensation. Her fingers are cold, but it’s as if wisps of heat wrap around my hand and gently squeeze it. She closes her eyes, hums for a moment and, when she opens them again, her eyes have gone glassy. I don’t know how she did it, but the effect is good.

“You are torn between two strange paths: the one of your forebears, rife with tradition, and the one you seek above all else, of progress, of change. You will not be deterred on your journey down the latter path, for it leads to the one you love most. However, the two paths will intermingle. The Heris line will continue with a child born out of wedlock and he will become the Crown Prince of Midoor and inherit your crown and your throne. The one you love most will be at odds with this one, but fret not, Your Majesty, for that person will come around and will stand by your side as long as you both shall live.”

Her eyes cleared and she withdraws her hand. The heat of the summer night warms it instantly.

“I hope you are pleased with your prediction, my king.”

“It was certainly…interesting…” I say, hesitantly. Bits and pieces of her prediction were true. I am at a crossroads where I must choose between following my father’s path as king and forging my own and I will forge my own. It’s true, too, that Milo will be by my side forever. But all that child out of wedlock thing? That’ll never happen.

“I can sense your doubt, but I have yet to be wrong,” she says with a knowing smile. “I have time for one more reading tonight. Perhaps your servant? I will give him a free reading, if he desires.”

“I’ll ask him,” I say, and Oswald follows me out of the tent.

“What did she say?” asks Milo at once. 

“Nothing much,” I say with a shrug and am surprised to see relief on Milo’s face. “You don’t believe in this stuff, do you, Milo?”

“I don’t know,” he says, glancing at the tent.

“Well, go in and get your reading. She’s offering you a free one.”

Milo swallows, nods his head, and ducks into the tent.

*Milo*

“Please, sit,” says the old woman when I approach her table. I do, and hold out my hand when she asks. I let out a small gasp when I do. Her wrinkled hand is soft and pulses in mine. It feels cold and my hand starts to prickle.

“I’m—”

“Milo,” she cuts in, and lets out a small chuckle at the look of surprise on my face. “You are well known within the kingdom. Now, let me perform your reading.”

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before letting out a soft hum. When she opens them, they’re out of focus, though they bore right into my soul.

“My dear, you harbor a dark secret. One that, if discovered, you fear will be the end of your life. And I’m not just talking about death, oh, no…your life would end if the one you love most were to cast you aside. Your fears in this matter are unbased, though, worry not. This person will never truly leave you. There is a difficult road ahead for you both, and your love will be tried. It will waver, it will bend, but it shall never break. The longer you wait to reveal this secret, the harder the strain on the bonds that connect you will be.” I feel a well of horror sprout inside me. How does she know all this? My attention is drawn back to her, sharp as a whip crack when she starts talking again. 

“But, be warned a raven-haired woman with eyes of ice. She has not the best interest at heart where your love is concerned.”

Her eyes focus on mine again and she withdraws her hand. She doesn’t say anything to me, nor me to her. I stand up, and walk silently out of the tent, making sure to arrange my features into a blank face.

“What did she say?” asks Aaron at once.

“Not much,” I lie, feeling uneasy.

“I think it’s time we head back up to the palace, Your Majesty,” says Oswald, looking troubled as well.

“Very well,” says Aaron, rolling his eyes. As we head back up to the palace, I clutch the stuffed racoon he gave me in my hands.

***

The next morning, Aaron is holding court. He sees all the usual people begging the crown to change laws and give gold to help villages. With most of the matters, Aaron tells the citizens it will be reviewed by the Small Council.

I’m daydreaming, bored of the proceedings, when a hooded woman walks up and kneels before Aaron. She pulls down her hood, revealing her black hair. My heart skips a beat, remembering the prediction the old woman gave me. 

When the raven-haired woman lifts her eyes and looks at Aaron, I see her eyes are a piercing, icy blue.