A Prince's Pride

*Milo*

Aaron and I have only been fiances for a week, and already a great change has come over the country of Midoor, a great divide cast over the nation. Those who are for our marriage, and those opposed to it. Thankfully, the latter is a much smaller group than the former. As I stand in the throne room, looking down to the entrance square of the palace, I see a large group of protesters, no less than fifty people, holding signs denouncing our love.

Aaron hasn’t held court since the day after our engagement. He was at first eager to see those who had been dismissed when he proposed, but there were too many people coming forth and saying they thought we shouldn’t get married and petitioning their king to marry a woman and father children.

Though everyone on the Small Council originally claimed not to care about our relationship, we soon discovered that Dellrie and Pallenore in particular thought I would be nothing more than a side piece for Aaron. When Aaron proposed, they tried to tell him it was a mistake, that he was defying tradition, but he shouted them down and told them to resign from the Council if they had an issue with it. Neither did, though I know Aaron was hoping Dellrie would.

“Are you paying attention, Milo?” Xion asks me. I turn to see them holding photographs of flowers. “Which of these would you prefer for the wedding?”

How did I get stuck with the wedding planning? True, Aaron is busy with his kingly duties, overseeing preparations for the attack on the Lower Reach, looking for more members of the Red Hand, and wondering what Piper Dylan will do. She hasn’t shown her face since she told him she would prove the existence of magic to him and he’s finally agreed to heed my warning of her.

I can’t stop thinking about her. Now that Criston is dead, I can’t help but view her as the most important threat to us. True, the Red Hand is still lurking around, but reports say they’ve gone to ground. Aaron’s raid on their Desparr hideout was a terrible blow for them. As for the Lower Reach, Aaron has that under control. 

Where is Piper now? What spell is she cooking up?

“Sir?” Xion asks, waving the photographs more urgently.

“I’m sorry, Xion, I just don’t have the concentration today,” I tell them.

“Of course, Your—”

“Stop calling me that,” I tell them. 

“Well, you are a prince,” they say waspishly. I think they’ve grown tired of my complete indifference toward the wedding preparations. I want to marry Aaron, I do. But I don’t care if it’s here, in the throne room, surrounded by beautiful flowers and banners and fancy carpets, or in a stable, surrounded by hay bales and with a horse shitting as we kiss. Well, I could do without the horse part.

“Are you worried about the protesters? They make up such a small fraction of the population,” says Xion, glancing out the window. I wonder briefly where Xion comes from. I know they’re not a true born Midoorian, not with their slanted eyes. I think Aaron said they come from a continent called Asia.

“Not really,” I say truthfully. “There are a million people in the city.” I know there are more people who are against mine and Aaron’s engagement than are out on the square, but I really don’t care about them.

“What is it that’s on your mind, if I might ask?”

“You can’t,” I tell them. Aaron said it wasn’t a good idea to talk about Piper to anyone but the Royal Family and the Small Council. 

“As you wish, Your—” they stop talking when I level a stare at them. “Milo, maybe focusing on your upcoming wedding will put this issue at ease for you. Now, which flowers do you think you would like?”

I roll my eyes but take the photographs from them and look at the two flowers. One is a crimson lily, it’s edges lined with yellow. The other is a purple rose, the inside cobalt blue.

“Both of them,” I say. “Make a bouquet with both and line the wedding aisle with them.”

“As you wish,” they say with a bow, taking the photographs from my hand.

I roll my eyes again as they walk away and I return to the window to watch the protesters. 

Ever since our engagement, the servants, the guards, and most of the citizens I come across treat me differently. I don’t like it. I’m not even supposed to do my servant duties anymore. The old Royal Attendant of King Theodore, Marcus Rhodes, has become Aaron’s new Royal Attendant and sees to his every need now. Aaron even bought me new clothes, finer clothes than I’ve ever worn, insisting I look the part of a king consort.

If I just had something other than worrying about Piper Dylan to occupy my time…

One of the protesters below notices me and flips me off. I watch as a guard steps forward and seizes the woman before dragging her into the palace. The other protesters start forward, but fall back again when the guards level their spears at them.

I have to only wait for a few minutes before the woman is brought into the throne room.

“Your Highness,” says the guard to me, “she was seen acting in aggression toward the Crown.”

“She was flipping me off,” I say, “not a member of the Royal Family.”

“Forgive me, sir,” says the guard, “but the King has declared that you are a member of the Royal Family as his future king consort. What should we do with her?”

I look at her and see a fearful defiance in her face.

“I don’t know, that’s really for the King to decide.”

“He’s in a Small Council meeting, Your Highness,” he says. “He said we should defer to you until he is let out.”

“Just let her go,” I tell him.

“Oh, that’s right,” says the woman. “You’re not a king, you’re just a lowly servant!” She spits at me and the glob lands on my shirt.

“You’ve done it now,” says the guard. “You’re under arrest for the assault of a member of the Royal Family.”

“He is no royal!” the woman shouts as she’s dragged from the throne room. “He’s a peasant and a—” her words are cut short when the throne room doors slam shut.

A servant rushes forward with a hand towel and dabs the spit from my shirt. I know her. Her name is Emaline Criss. We’ve worked together in the kitchens, washing pots and pans.

“Thank you, Emaline,” I say. 

“Of course, sire,” she says with a bow as she steps back. I feel awkward being addressed like a royal, no matter what Aaron has decided. I don’t think I’d mind so much if I hadn’t worked with nearly every servant in the palace before.

I turn back and look down at the protesters. They’re arguing with the guards. I feel nothing for them as I gaze down at them. My thoughts return to Piper…

*Aaron*

If I have ever sat a longer Small Council meeting than this, I don't remember it. There were many things to discuss today and, truth be told, it's been one of our more productive meetings since I became king. 

We spoke about our preparations for the Lower Reach. Our soldiers are ready to attack, they're just waiting for my command. We spoke about the Red Hand and, after much argument and against my morals, I gave Dellrie the go ahead to use torture on the higher ranking Red Hand members. As Dellrie said, they are terrorists and, after all, we need to figure out what they're up to. Piper Dylan was mentioned and, much to the chagrin of Zelda Offrand, I still do not believe in magic, though I question Piper's motives. 

The thing I'm the most upset about during this meeting is when we've talked about Milo. Dellrie in particular disagrees with my decision to declare Milo a member of the Royal Family and to grant him the privileges and protections of such. 

Only Zelda is completely on my side, believing I was right in my decision. Though Cara, Yora, and Delgara haven't openly spoken against Milo, I can tell they're not entirely on board, but are willing to defer to me. And while Pallenore would prefer I marry a woman and sleep with Milo on the side, he's kept his silence since telling me this. Dellrie, however, hasn't stopped spouting about tradition and having a true-born heir since I proposed to Milo.

I've nearly dismissed Dellrie from the Council several times, but Zelda told me to wait and I’ve heeded her counsel. She says he proved invaluable to my father. According to her, through his constant opposition, he stopped my father from making several potentially catastrophic mistakes. What these mistakes were, Zelda won't say. 

As the conversation comes back around to Milo, Dellrie starts in again. 

"I just don't think the people will accept a gay king consort, especially not one who is a servant."

"Milo isn't a servant anymore," I say flatly. "When I declared him a member of the Royal Family, he became a prince of Midoor."

"Sure, he is now, but I still don't think the people will accept a former servant as king consort."

"Are you aware of the story of Arthur Pendragon and his queen, Guinevere?"

"I am, Your Majesty," says Dellrie with a tone indicating he's trying to stay calm, "but at least she was a woman."

"And why does it matter if she was a woman?"

"To me? Nothing, my king. But to the people? It could be everything. As Pallenore has already stated, people who disagree with your engagement to Milo are flocking to the Red Hand, swelling their ranks. They've already attacked the capital once and I don't think I need to tell you that on that occasion, a king died."

"No, you don't need to remind me, Dellrie," I say quietly. 

"Then I urge you to follow tradition and find a wife. One who, like Corianne, won't care what you and Milo do."

I'm about to argue, but Pallenore interjects before I can. 

"On the topic of Prince Milo," he says, "as he's now officially part of the Royal Family, a sworn protector must be chosen for him. As the king, it is ultimately up to you. If you're not sure, I can suggest someone."

"Exavier Cromwell," I say at once. "His wife lives here, in Crown City. I'm sure he'd like to relocate. Plus, he has a child on the way and I'm sure he'd enjoy the pay raise. Have him inducted into the Crown Guard immediately."

"I'll send the orders at once," says Pallenore. 

"Well if that's all for today, I need to see the Queen," says Zelda. 

"No, it's not all," I say. "I want Milo's coronation to happen directly after the wedding. Same ceremony. We're not waiting around for the Red Hand to attack."

"Your Majesty, the wedding is to happen in the throne room," says Delgara. "Securing it has already happened. There won't be enough time to secure the square before the day of the ceremony. It’s in three days.”

"His coronation will happen in the throne room as well."

Silence follows my words.

"Sire, tradition states that coronations—" starts Dellrie, but I cut across him. 

"We're going to be Middor's first gay kings," I say. "I think tradition doesn't have a place here anymore."

"Whatever you wish, Your Majesty," says Dellrie with an incline of his head. 

*Milo*

After leaving the throne room, I walk to the Queen's room with a nameless Crown Guard following me. The door to Elaine's room is already ajar, so I push it open to find Elaine and Mirra at her table, Mirra holding a bowl of oatmeal, trying to convince her to eat it.

"Please, Your Majesty," Mirra practically begs, "just one bite. Just one."

"No! Can't you see the spiders? They crawl among the oats and whisper ill tidings to my brain. The Whisperer sent them, I know he did."

"It's just oatmeal, Elaine," I say, causing Mirra to jump. 

She stands up quickly, bows to me, and says, "Your Highness! Good afternoon! I…I didn't realize you'd be coming today. I thought you'd be making preparations for the wedding." When she stands straight again, I see her face is scarlet. I'm still clinging to my crush theory and I think me being made a royal has made it that much stronger. 

"Hello, Mirra. Would you like me to take over?"

"That would be great," she says, walking over to me and handing me the bowl. 

I tell her quietly, "Don't worry, she'll get better. It isn't your fault."

She nods, but with a look on her face like she doesn't believe me. She glances at Elaine once more before leaving the room, shutting the door behind her. 

"Milo, I don't want to eat spiders," says Elaine, writing in her notes again. 

I set the bowl of oatmeal next to her and, as she's done every time I've set food by her, she picks it up and starts devouring it. 

I pick up the page she was just working on and read through it. 

I can see the Whisperer. He is here all the time. The wedding is in a few days. It will be so nice to get out of my room. I hope the spiders aren't invited. Did Milo invite the spiders? No, of course he didn’t. The Whisperer comes now all the time. What does he want? I see now. He wants Milo's crown. He will not have it. He will not have it. He will not have it. He will not have it. Orchids will of course look great for the wedding but Milo mustn't eat them. They'll have spiders, of course. The chickens love them. 

I flip the page over and find a very small note made at the bottom of the page saying, "Mirra = Spiders".

I ignore it. I've tried to decode Elaine's notes several times, but they're absolute nonsense. 

"How are you feeling today, Elaine?" I ask, setting the page back down. 

"Oh, I feel fine," she says, her mouth full of oatmeal. A bit of it flies out and lands on her notes. "I'm excited about the wedding. Theodore is, too. He can't wait to see you two married." She smiles brightly before taking the last spoon of oatmeal into her mouth. 

This is as unnerving to me as her insane ramblings. Since she mentioned her late husband when Aaron proposed to me, she talks about King Theodore as if he's still alive. 

Although, this does make me wonder. Would King Theodore have wanted to see us married? I don't know… True, he did tell Aaron to follow his heart, but I have a feeling he'd have been more in line with Pallenore, thinking Aaron should marry a woman and just sleep with me on the side. 

"You were right," says Elaine, suddenly, "there weren't any spiders in there. Oh well, I'll find them, Milo. Don't you worry."

"I know you will, Elaine, I know you will."

I turn my head toward the door when I hear footsteps and see Zelda entering the room. 

“Oh, Your Highness,” she says to me. “Still haven’t gotten used to your new title?” she adds when she sees my eyeroll.

“You are a prince now, Milo,” says Elaine vaguely, looking around the room.

She’s replaced the maps of the continent with photographs of flowers, suits, and dresses. Her tables are littered, not only with her notes, but colored patches of fabrics in different colors that are sewn together. Honestly, she’s taken much more interest in my wedding than I have. 

“Here is your medicine, Your Majesty,” says Zelda, holding out the goblet.

“Milo, check it for spiders,” says Elaine. 

I grab the goblet and peer into it. It does have something floating in it, but if Zelda made it, it’s definitely medicine.

“No spiders, Elaine,” I say, holding the goblet out to her. 

She takes it and raises it to her lips, but stops. Her eyes bulge as she stares into the closet.

“What was that?” she shouts at the closet, as if someone inside were talking to her. Then, pleasantly, she says, “Oh, why thank you, Theodore. I think so, too,” and drains the goblet in a couple of gulps.

Zelda and I glance at each other, our faces mirrors of sadness.

***

When I enter our bedroom after dinner that night, I find Aaron already there. An empty plate sits on his desk which is littered with diagrams and signed orders. I know he’s preparing for a war, but I wish he’d come to dinner with me, though at least Riley is there. 

I walk over to his desk and pick up the top document with his name signed at the bottom. It’s an order for a shipment of supplies to be sent to the northern border from the capital.

“You made me sit at dinner with your family so you could sign war documents?” I ask, making sure to inject a tone of sarcasm in my voice.

“Our family, dear,” he corrects me, still looking at a diagram of the border between Midoor and the Lower Reach. It’s full of arrows and initials and symbols I barely recognize. “You know my mother and sister consider you family. In Riley’s case, she’s done so for years.”

“Yeah, well, still,” I say, sitting on his desk. He looks up at me and I see his bloodshot eyes. I wonder how long he’s been here.

“What’s wrong? Something with the wedding?”

“No,” I say, “your mother and Xion have that under control.”

“I wish you’d show more interest,” he says.

“You’re one to talk,” I say with a laugh. 

“I’m planning a war,” he says with mock outrage. Truthfully, I know he doesn’t care about the wedding preparations anymore than I do. He just wants the thing over with.

“Although,” he continues, “since we’re talking about wedding preparations, I’ve made a decision. Your coronation will take place right after the wedding, there in the throne room. I think your coronation would be a prime time for the Red Hand to act. We’re not going to tell anyone but the guards. It’ll be a surprise. The Grand Master will crown you as king consort of Midoor and that will be that.”

I don’t exactly know why, but I feel like the walls are closing in on me.

“Aaron, I’m not so sure about this royal business. Can’t we marry, me stay your servant, and just not be a king?”

“Well, it’s too late for that. You’re already a prince. If you marry a king, you become a king. That’s just how it works. You’ve been a prince for four days now. Surely you’re getting used to it?”

“It feels weird, being waited on by my friends.”

“Listen, don’t stress about it now,” he says, grabbing my hand and kissing it.

“What should I think about instead?” I ask.

“This,” he replies, kissing my wrist.

“I don’t think it’s working,” I say playfully.

“How about this?” He kisses my forearm, then my elbow, then my bicep.

“I think it’s starting to work. Maybe keep trying?”

He smiles as he moves his face farther up, kissing my shoulder, then my neck. He wraps his hand around the back of my head and pulls me into a kiss. His tongue immediately slides into my mouth, his breath mingling with my own. I gasp when he scoops me up into his arms and I wrap my legs around him. He carries me over to a chair before the fire and lowers me into it.

“It’s definitely working,” I say, glancing down at my cock. It’s pushing against the soft fabric of these pants, which do nothing to hide my bulge, even when I’m soft. I think he chose them on purpose. 

He wraps his lips around the bulge in my pants and I gasp as his mouth warms me. My cock practically jumps as though it wants to rip through my pants. He runs his tongue along the outline, leaving a dark spot in the gray fabric.

“You like that, Your Highness?” he whispers. I nod. I don’t mind when he uses my royal title. 

I reach down and run a hand through his hair as his tongue traces the spot again. He lifts his head so my hand runs along his face and my index finger mouth. He sucks it in and swirls his tongue over the skin. Although it isn’t my dick, the motion of it sends electricity shooting through my body. I pull my finger back and he sucks, his tongue cradling the underside finger.

“Take your shirt off,” I say, and he obliges. The fire dancing in the grate casts his abs into sharper relief and I can’t help but stare. The effort he goes through to keep them for me is extraordinary and I love him for it. He reaches toward me and, together, we pull my shirt off. Then his pants. Then mine. He climbs on top of me, putting his legs through the holes in the chair’s arms.

He slides toward me and our hard cocks press together a moment before our lips meet. He starts to move, rubbing our cocks together as our tongues dance in each other’s mouths. I gasp into him, loving the feeling of his body. I can’t stop being amazed by how good he can make feel without doing much of anything. 

One of his hands comes down and he grips both of our cocks in it, though his fingers cannot close around them both. He strokes us, our precum leaking onto each other. I gasp when he runs his palm over our heads, smearing our precum together, then uses his slicked hand to work our shafts. I reach through our joined groins and he makes enough room for me to rub his hole with the finger he’d been sucking on. It’s slick enough I can slide it right into him.

I find his prostate and press, making his cock jump so it presses into mine. He gasps as we pleasure each other in this manner for a moment.

When he gets up, I don’t want him to leave, though I know what he’s doing. He returns a moment later with a bottle of lube and slathers my cock with it. I slide down in the chair to give him a better angle and he sits, letting me slide into him. I take the bottle and lube my own hand. He puts both hands on the arm of the chair, plants his feet, and starts to ride me. I grip his cock with my slicked hand and work him as he does.

Faster and faster he bounces, moaning my name.

“Milo, oh Milo, your cock feels so fucking good.”

“How can you be so tight,” I wonder aloud, “after all these years?” He bounces on me, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. I reach up with my clean hand and wrap it around his throat. 

As he comes down, I thrust up, bringing myself deeper into him. I know he’s gripping the chair enough to prevent it from moving, so I grip his waist with both hands, though my lubed one slides on his skin slightly. I start thrusting into him while he holds himself in place. 

“Oh fuck…oh fuck…oh fuck…” he gasps over and over as I pound his ass, his face twisting in pleasure. 

“Don’t stop, please, don’t stop,” he begs as he slams his ass down onto me with every upward thrust I make into him.

I don’t know how long we stay like that, but I start to get a cramp in my legs, so I scoop him up, pulling his legs up out of the chair and carry him over to the bed. I lay him beside it and pull his legs up so his ass is in the air, his back against the side of the bed. It’s so tall, he has to prop himself up with his hands on the floor. I spread his legs apart and plant one foot on the bed, then angle my cock downward, and thrust back into him.

I fuck him, this new angle letting me pound him into oblivion. He stuffs his fist into his mouth, trying to muffle the moans escaping from him as I slam into him over and over. 

I have no idea how I make him cum from just fucking his ass, but I love it. I feel his ass convulse around my cock and as it always does, it sends me over the edge. He pulls his fist out of his mouth as we both cum, my cock filling him up, his splattering his face with his seed, though most of it lands in his mouth. I see him swallow and it turns me on even more, giving me a second wind. 

I lay into him again, staring into his eyes. His cum splattered face is sagging with pleasure as his cum slicked hole swallows my cock over and over until it’s too soft to do much of anything. I pull out of him and he collapses to the floor, breathing heavily. I just stand there, looking down at him on the floor, naked and covered in cum. He sits up and smiles up at me.

“I think we need to take a shower,” he says. He stands and grabs me by the hand, pulling me toward the bathroom.