Chapter 42 - Birthday Surprises

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…”