The morning of Prince Felix’s
twenty-fifth birthday finally arrived. The golden-haired prince woke
early and looked out at the world from the top of his tower in the
very centre of the castle. He was as eager as an infant for the day
to begin and for the treats and pleasures that lay in store for him
to unfold. He could tell from the secretive and anxious scurrying of
the castle staff, that his loyal Steward had planned something rather
special for the occasion. This, he knew instinctively, was going to
be a highly enjoyable day!
He rolled out of bed, naked, and
conducted his usual inspection of himself in the looking-glass: yes,
he looked as glorious and gorgeous as ever. He wrapped a crimson robe
around his bulging arms and the rippling muscles of his chest and
stomach. The next moment, a knock on the door announced the arrival
of the faithful Raymond. “Enter!” called the Prince breathlessly.
Raymond, dressed in a fabulous powder
blue ensemble of doublet and hose, bowed low before his master. “May
I have the honour of being the first to wish your Highness
felicitations and praise for this most glorious of days!” he
grovelled. “And may I present you with the first of your birthday
gifts!”
The Prince cocked his beautiful head
to one side as Raymond clicked his fingers. At once, Mortimer and
Humphrey entered the royal chambers, huffing and puffing as they
struggled to carry a massive, richly wrapped box between them. Beads
of sweat ran from the brows of the skinny page and the fat one, as,
with immense relief, they laid their burden on the floor. It looked
more like a coffin than a gift box, thought Felix with amusement.
Without uttering a word of
appreciation or gratitude, the Prince fell hungrily onto the box, and
tore the red, velvety covering from it. He opened the latch, and
pushed back the lid to reveal its mysterious contents. There, in the
bottom of the box lay a man. The man was folded up in order to fit in
the bizarre cabinet, so his hosed legs were pressed uncomfortably
against his naked torso. The prisoner’s hands and feet were bound
with lengths of scratchy rope and a black hood covered his face. The
final adornment was another piece of rope, tied in the shape of a
hangman’s noose, which was secured ominously around the anonymous
victim’s neck.
An exhilarating hope leaped in the
Prince’s breast. Surely, after all this time, it couldn’t be…?
He leaned into the box and snatched the fabric hood from the man’s
head. There, his mouth securely gagged with a filthy scrap of fabric,
gazing balefully up at him, lay the vile and traitorous Alexander
Courcey.
Felix clapped his hands with glee.
“This is an excellent gift, Raymond! Odin found him at last, I take
it?”
“He did indeed, your Highness. I’m
sure he will tell you more of his escapades when you see him this
evening at the banquet.”
“We must take care that the slippery
little snake does not escape from us a second time.”
“There is no fear of that, your
Highness. You see the gibbet standing waiting in the courtyard? It is
to provide us with our after dinner entertainment. Master Courcey
will hang from it tonight.”
The Prince was visibly delighted with
the first of his birthday surprises. But it was destined to be the
first of many.
An hour or so later, as the rest of
the castle’s inhabitants bustled around the place, attempting
frantically to make the place ready for the evening’s extravaganza,
Ulfgar slouched lazily on the sunny parapet. He squinted into the
distance. He couldn’t be sure, but his sharp warriors’ eyes
seemed to make out a cloud of dust appearing on the horizon. He
waited a minute or so. Yes, he was right. It was a group of men of
horseback. And they were heading straight for the castle!
Soon, others had spotted the oncoming
visitors. And it was the keen-eyed Mortimer who was the first to
identify them.
“I recognise the standard! It’s
him. I know it is. It’s Lord Geoffrey. They’re back from the
crusades!”
It was true. And within half an hour,
large as life, the handsome, silver-haired Geoffrey de Montford,
still dusty from the road, and weary from months of combat, sat in
his private chambers of his home. However, arrangements at Castle de
Montford seemed very different from how he had left them all those
months before.
Reclining casually in Geoffrey’s own
throne-like armchair, was his arrogant young godson and Prince of the
realm, Felix. And hovering at his elbow, occupying the position and
even the wardrobe of Alexander de Courcey, was the youthful and
ambitious Raymond StClare.
“I am quite dumbfounded, your
Highness,” said Lord Geoffrey in his sonorous bass voice. “I had
no idea that you were residing here at the castle. Your Father’s
decision to hide you here was kept a secret even from me. Had I
known, I would never have dreamed of arriving without a birthday
gift!”
A flicker of annoyance crossed the
Prince’s beautiful face. “You mean you haven’t brought
me a present?”
“I have news of our campaign in the
East and of your beloved Father. I hope they will suffice until I
have chance to remedy the oversight,” the diplomatic Lord Geoffrey
replied.
The Prince smiled, instantly
mollified. “I trust you will be comfortable in some other suite in
the castle?” he said.
“Do not concern yourself, my Lord.
My knights and I give thanks that we are home. I would gladly sleep
in the stables in the knowledge that I have my own roof over my head
after these months of campaigning.”
Prince Felix nodded approvingly. He
certainly had no intention of vacating Lord Geoffrey’s exquisite
chambers.
“You are looking more regal and more
handsome than ever, your Highness,” Geoffrey continued. “I take
it my staff have fulfilled all your needs during your sojourn with
us?”
“Their attentions have been, for the
most part, adequate,” sniffed the Prince. “And good Master
Raymond here has been an exemplar of loyalty and fidelity.”
Geoffrey turned to look at the
curly-haired youth. “I am overjoyed to hear it. Although I’ll
confess, I find myself a little bewildered to discover him occupying
the position I would have expected my own loyal servant, Master
Alexander, to be standing in.”
I wondered when you’d get on to that
topic, thought Raymond to himself.
“Your loyal servant?” spat
Felix. “Forgive me for speaking harshly, my dear Godfather, but I’m
afraid your sense and your judgement was elsewhere on the day you
appointed that treacherous scoundrel to be your right-hand man! He is
discovered to be a traitor, an embezzler, a sexual pervert and –
most damning of all – he plotted against my very life!”
Lord Geoffrey’s face paled in
astonishment. “Your Highness, your words leave me desolate beyond
belief. To think a servant of mine could be guilty of such villainy!
I beg your forgiveness.”
Raymond narrowed his eyes
thoughtfully. Had Lord Geoffrey really accepted Alexander’s guilt
so easily? Then he smiled. Whether he did or not made no real
difference. Geoffrey was a sufficiently skilled politician to know
that if the Prince made those charges against him, his Steward was
doomed. His only hope of avoiding the scaffold himself was to swallow
the accusations whole and pray that royal vengeance would not spread
to include himself into the bargain.
“Thankfully,” said the Prince,
“the matter is now finally at end. Alexander Courcey is to be
executed this very night.”
“I could wish him no more deserving
end,” said Lord Geoffrey gravely.
Felix seemed satisfied with his
godfather’s stance of meek submission. “Now, my Lord. I am eager
for your news. How went the campaign against the infidel?”
Geoffrey’s tanned and handsome
features composed themselves into a sombre mien. “Your Highness, I
will confess. I have news for you – both good and bad.”
Prince Felix nodded curtly. “I am no
longer the pampered child you visited in the royal nursery, Lord
Geoffrey. You need not spare me the details, but in honour of this
special day, give me the good news first at least!”
“I will indeed. And that centres on
the campaign itself. It was hard fought and bloody, but we were
victorious and have vanquished all the territories that your Father
desired. England’s dominions now spread deep into the barren
deserts of Arabia!”
“Why, that is truly wonderful news.
And what is the bleak flipside to this report?”
“Your Highness. It is with desolate
sorrow that I must be the one to impart these tidings. The fighting
concluded, and our men and horses packing up ready for the long
journey back home, one dark, terrible night, a secret Arabian
mercenary crept into our camp.”
The Prince’s fist clenched in
anticipation of what was to come.
Lord Geoffrey took a deep breath and
continued with his tale. “And using poisons and black magic, he
kidnapped your father!”
“No!” gasped Felix.
“I fear it is true. The Sultan holds
him even now in his pleasure palace. He demands a ransom for the
King’s return, and gives us a choice of one of two equally
outrageous options.”
“Tell me.”
“For the safe return of your father,
the Arabians want either the return of all the lands we won from them
in this campaign and a promise to renounce our claims on them
forever, or else the tidy sum of one million gold sovereigns!”
“The blackguards!”
“Quite, your Highness. The latter
choice is quite impossible. England’s exchequer has been stripped
bare by the cost of these foreign wars. And I truly believe that your
father the King would rather die than see his hard-won lands simply
handed over to our dastardly foe!”
“Then what are we to do?” demanded
the Prince.
“There is no immediate urgency, my
Lord. We have the Sultan’s oath that his majesty will not be harmed
as long as he remains his prisoner. My fellow barons and I have
already initiated discussions about how best to proceed. Naturally we
will follow your wishes whatever you decide.”
The Prince passed an elegantly
jewelled hand across his forehead. “This sad news has distressed me
on what should have been a joyful day. And you must be tired. Leave
me now, to think further on what must be done.”
Lord Geoffrey rose to his feet and
bowed low to the Prince. “Your wish is my command, your Highness.”
Down in the kitchens, the air hummed
with gossip. Naturally enough, the cornerstone of all the
conversations was the loquacious Mistress Olwen.
“So his Lordship is home, safe and
sound, as are Sir Antony, Sir Marcus and Sir Dominic. Is there news
of Master Yorick the hosier?” she asked.
“The rest of the army is still
further south,” Humphrey informed her. “Lord Geoffrey rode on
ahead to report to Prince Felix. So it’s only his party who we know
about.”
Mistress Jane swept into the kitchen
in a low-cut deep blue gown, catching the tail end of the fat page’s
report.
“Which means we have a further six
mouths to feed at the Prince’s birthday banquet this evening!”
she declared sharply. “So I suggest, Mistress Olwen, that you spend
less time gossiping with page boys, and more time working. Do I make
myself clear?”
And Raymond’s younger sister turned
on her heel and went on her imperious way.
Meanwhile, her elder brother was
locked in conference with the birthday boy himself. Prince Felix
stalked his borrowed chambers in irritation.
“It’s typical of this damned
place! My birthday ruined! All because of Father’s stupid obsession
with conquering the Arabs!” he complained. “What on earth am I to
do, Raymond?!”
Raymond, waiting patiently, the cogs
in his devious brain whirring at double speed, chose his words
carefully. “Well, your Highness, let us consider our options.
Neither of the choices presented to us by the Sultan are feasible.”
“So what are we supposed to do?
Leave my Father to languish in a stinking Arabian prison?”
“We may have no choice – for now.
And if that is indeed the case, the question of a regency arises,
does it not?”
“A regency?”
“England needs a ruler. If the King
is absent, then someone must take his place. You will be king in your
own right one day, your Highness. You are the obvious choice to take
the throne.”
Prince Felix caught his breath. His
blue eyes glittered like sapphires. “So that would mean,” he
whispered, “that to all intents and purposes, I would be King. With
ultimate power. No more having to answer to my Father or be dictated
to by his whims. I would rule outright.”
Raymond nodded in ready agreement.
“And whilst you are installed on the throne, you could prioritise
the raising of funds for the King’s ransom.”
“Yes, perhaps,” mused Felix.
“Although I don’t know that that would necessarily need to be a
very high priority. After all, didn’t Lord Geoffrey say that my
father is perfectly safe where he is? It might take years to raise
all that money. Or we might not manage it at all.” He giggled at
the notion.
“The kingdom of England must come
first, your Highness,” said Raymond. “You would merely be doing
your duty.”
“King Felix the First!” announced
the Prince, flinging himself down on a velvet-upholstered chaise
longue. “My, this really is the birthday that keeps on giving,
isn’t it?”
“Indeed it is,” agreed Raymond
smoothly. “Speaking of which, I have another gift for you.” He
opened the royal closet and produced his latest salvo to secure
Felix’s affections: something guaranteed to delight the Prince –
new clothes.
Like a child with a new toy, the
handsome Prince fell upon the present. “They are … exquisite,
Raymond!” he declared.
“My pleasure, your Highness. I
thought perhaps you could wear them at this evening’s
celebrations?”
Felix held the gorgeous costume before
him. “These are garments truly fit for a King!” The ensemble was
made from the finest white satins and silks: a tight-fitting bolero
jacket of the type he favoured most, would frame his broad shoulders
perfectly, he mused. The fabric was intricately woven with gold and
silver thread, and massive diamonds ran down the sleeves of the
fabulous garment.
The shoes were softest buckskin, white
as well – a slight heel which would emphasise the rounded muscles
in Felix’s beautiful calves – and the surface decorated again in
glittering jewels.
But of course, the Prince’s
principal concern was the hose. He gasped in awe as he ran the
thinnest, sheerest, silkiest, most divinely lustrous white tights
that he had ever touched, through his manicured fingers. “Where did
you get them from?” he wondered in astonishment. “The artistry!”
Somehow the skilled hosier had managed, without causing the slightest
run or ladder, to weave sparkling gems into the diaphanous material
of the hose itself. Diamonds chased one another up the outside of
each leg, culminating in a kind of diamond encrusted codpiece at the
crotch. Felix imagined gleefully the effect this adornment would have
on his audience: drawing even more attention than usual to his
bulging groin. Neither was the rear of the garment neglected. The
Prince’s fingers traced their way over the delicate fabric that
would that very evening enclose his royal buttocks. The gossamer thin
material was artfully intertwined with silvery sequins that would
shimmer off the surface of his buoyant arse, making the whole
creation a perfect fusion of visual beauty.
“There is this as well, your
Highness, should you desire it,” added Raymond, apologetically
gesturing to a glistening cloak made of cloth of gold.
“You know me better than that,
Raymond,” said the Prince scornfully. The last thing he wanted was
to deny all his new subjects the delicious sight of his tights-clad
bottom by covering it with a floor-length cloak!
“Then, perhaps this final touch is
more apt under the circumstances…” And from a mass of tissue
paper, Raymond delicately unpacked a thin silver diadem, encrusted
with yet more diamonds and priceless gems. “The crowning
glory, one might almost say”.
“Yes, Raymond. Come here and place
the crown upon my royal brow.”
Raymond approached solemnly. Suddenly
he had a premonition of the near future. King Felix the Beautiful
sitting on his royal throne, dressed in these very garments that
Raymond had purchased for him. A fat foreign princess sat next to
Felix as his queen: a necessary choice for diplomatic reasons. Yet,
there at the King’s right hand, the true power behind the throne,
his trusted counsellor, and the man he looked to for all advice,
stood he himself: Lord Raymond StClare!
Back to reality, and he gently lifted
the glittering circlet and positioned it atop Felix’s golden head.
Felix looked into Raymond’s eyes, breathing deeply. Was this it?
Was he truly about to…?
The Prince leant towards his Steward,
his face bathed in the ecstasy of power and triumph. He opened his
full pink lips, and kissed Raymond firmly on the mouth.
Raymond’s heart (and his cock)
leaped for joy. He had done it! He had won the Prince, heart, body
and soul. He had succeeded where Alexander Courcey had failed. And
that night he knew he would be sharing the Prince’s royal bed. And
then, oh what a birthday surprise his royal master would have in
store for him!
Raymond responded, parting his lips
and tentatively kissing that glorious face, knowing instinctively
that he was the first and only person on Earth that Felix had ever
kissed in that way. One hand reached round Felix’s muscled frame
and rested gently on the plump, firm arse, fingertips brushing
against the silken hose.
Suddenly, Felix withdrew, a cat-like
smile on his lips. “We have much to do, Raymond. I must speak to
Lord Geoffrey and inform him of my plans to assume the regency. And
then we have your fabulous party to attend. But tonight…”
He gazed meaningfully towards the door
of his bedchamber.
“Tonight…”
