Chapter 43 - King Felix

It was a triumph far beyond his imagining: beyond anything that Alexander Courcey had ever managed to organise. Raymond looked around the Great Hall as he processed slowly through the ranks of birthday guests. A couple of paces in front of him strode Prince Felix, dressed head to toe in his new finery. He glittered with gems all over – looking every inch the King. Raymond’s eyes couldn’t help drifting downwards to the royal ass: that perfect bubble butt, encased in sequinned white tights. Raymond’s fingers itched to stroke, to caress, and, yes, to spank those inviting globes. But that was for later. There was much to enjoy before that delicious moment could arrive.

He glanced around the Hall, at the brightly coloured banners hanging from the rafters and the equally brightly coloured musicians he had imported for the occasion. The fanfare of their trumpets rang in his ears, heralding the entrance of the Prince. All the guests rose to their feet. Admittedly, some of them did so rather reluctantly, but they all knew better than to show their dislike of their royal master too openly. Indeed, some of the merchants and squires Raymond had invited had chosen to stay away all together, so he had been forced to fill some of the lesser seats with a cartload of tourists from nearby Dunchester.

The Prince strutted proudly through the throng, waving a ringed hand casually at the gawping non-entities. No sign of Odin or Ulfgar, Raymond noted with irritation. Their noses were clearly out of joint at having been supplanted as the Prince’s chief confidant. Raymond nodded to his sister, who was on her feet, applauding, looking radiant in a golden gown. He himself had chosen his attire carefully – a new doublet of black velvet, and the particoloured hose he favoured: one leg jet black and the other creamy white. Felix was the sun and he the moon, content to bathe in the reflected radiance of the godlike Prince: in public at least. In private, he thought to himself, it would be an entirely different matter!

They arrived at the long table at the far end of the room where Lord Geoffrey stood waiting, bathed, refreshed and dressed in deep scarlet robes and hose. His handsome companions, the strapping Sir Antony among them, applauded gravely as the Prince approached. Felix swished around the table and reached the throne in the centre. He turned to his godfather on his right hand side and offered his hand. Geoffrey sank to his knee and kissed the Prince’s fingers.

“Welcome, subjects!” declared Felix. “Welcome and share in the joyous celebrations of my birthday! You may be seated.”

The Prince gestured for Raymond to sit on his other side and said to his Steward, “So, tell me, Raymond, what do you have prepared for me?”

Savoury pastries, venison, fish courses, pies and rich cream sauces all appeared from Mistress Olwen’s kitchen, served up diligently by Mortimer and Humphrey, who both wore a new silver livery in honour of the occasion. The best wine flowed, and for a while, even those who had no reason to love the Prince began to enjoy themselves. Olwen hovered expectantly, as the multitude of puddings and desserts she had prepared were carried aloft and deposited onto the tables.

However, at this moment, the Prince rose to his feet. “Loyal subjects!” he announced. “Twenty-five years ago today the Earth was blessed by my arrival. And for this it is right and proper that you celebrate. But there are further reasons for jubilation on this glorious day. Due to the indisposition of my father, I must tell you that before the week is out I will be leaving you to travel south to London. There I will take the throne as regent. You are looking upon your new monarch.”

Raymond rose to his feet to join his master. “Three cheers! Three cheers for King Felix the Beautiful!”

The assembled guests looked from one to another in confusion. What could this mean? What had happened to the old King? Could they truly celebrate the accession of this arrogant young man to the throne?

A frown of vexation crossed Felix’s handsome features.

“Three cheers for the King, you scum!” declared Raymond.

“No.”

Both Prince and Steward turned in astonishment to look at who had spoken. There, sitting as calmly and gravely as ever, was Lord Geoffrey.

Felix was almost speechless. “What – what did you say?”

“I said no, godson. You will not become king. I will not allow it.”

The Prince’s face flushed an angry shade of puce. “Explain yourself this instant. And you had better make it good!”

Lord Geoffrey rose to his feet. “I speak for the barons and nobleman of England. We have suffered under twenty years of your father’s rule. His reign has seen the exchequer stripped bare and the slaughter of England’s best and bravest men in his obsessive pursuit of war and territory. We are not prepared to sit back and watch the throne go to his spoiled brat of a son.”

“Godfather or no, you will hang for this!” sputtered Felix.

“I think not, godson. You’ll find no friends here or anywhere in this land. Your arrogant behaviour has seen to that.”

Raymond’s heart began to pound. In an instant, he saw all his hopes and dreams begin to crumble before his eyes.

The Prince looked around him urgently. “Guards! Servants! Arrest this traitor!”

Nothing happened. All the guests, the staff, the musicians sat as silently and immobile as each other.

“You will all perish for this insult!” screamed Felix. “Odin! Ulfgar! Arrest them all!”

You could have heard a pin drop.

“Your bullying thugs cannot help you, your Highness,” said Geoffrey in those same measured tones. “I anticipated that you might seek to seize the throne for yourself, so I decided to take some precautions. Still, I have no doubt your Viking friends wish to pay their respects on this special day.”

Geoffrey smiled knowingly at the strapping Sir Antony, who winked back at him and made his way to the corner of the Hall. There, he grasped the iron crank that was used to raise and lower the massive wooden chandeliers which, when filled with candles, illuminated the great room. As Antony began to turn it, the spectators in the Hall looked up to the ceiling and were greeted by an exceedingly curious sight.

The chandeliers had been removed and instead, attached to the stout ropes, now being lowered towards the ground, dangled none other than Ulfgar and Odin. A titter ran round the guests seated below. Then some of the spectators began to giggle. Finally gales of laughter erupted from the throng. The Vikings had been stripped of their sinister black leather jerkins and trousers. Each of the massive men were bare-chested, their vast, hairy torsos glistening with sweat, and both had cloth gags shoved into their mouths to prevent them from making any sound. Their hands were tied behind their backs and their ankles tied together. But the laughter was provoked by the fact that each of the two men were wearing matching pairs of pink and yellow candy-striped tights!

The stretchy hose encased their bulging thigh muscles and made their large, round buttocks look immense. The outlines of their gargantuan cocks and balls were all too apparent through the revealing hosiery. And most humiliatingly of all for the hardened warriors, was the fact that the ropes they swang from had been cunningly fastened to the waistband of their tights, in such a way that the material was stretched as taut as possible. It cut deep into their arsecracks, and gave each of them excruciating and very obvious wedgies.

Raymond looked up as the two giants were lowered from the rafters, his mouth suddenly dry. At any other time he would have joined in with the laughter erupting around him. After all, the bullying brutes deserved a reckoning, and Raymond knew just how much they would be hating being dressed in the clinging hosiery. The two terrifying ogres had been turned into clownish buffoons – their faces red with shame, their bodies on display, and their humiliation plain for all to witness. Odin and Ulfgar struggled in their tights bondage, tears in their eyes as the material splitting their arses in two caused them excruciating pain. Their eyes bulged with shock at being bundled into this terrible position. Their tree-trunk-like, hose-clad legs wriggled, which only increased the painful effect of the wedgies. Raymond’s mind was racing. What should he do? Stay loyal to the Prince or try to ally himself with Lord Geoffrey and turn against his royal master? He glanced across at Felix, whose chiselled features were deathly pale.

“Release my bodyguards, now,” the Prince commanded in a dangerous tone of voice.

But Lord Geoffrey shook his head implacably. “You’re no longer in a position to issue orders, godson.”

Felix looked around him. With the exception of a distinctly queasy-looking Raymond, he saw no friends – only hard faces lined with hatred. In a split second, he made his decision. He vaulted athletically over the long dining table and began to sprint down the hall to the oak doors at the far end. He ran for his life, like a beautiful, white, glittering stag. His lungs burst with desperation, and he had nearly reached the doorway when a booted foot stuck itself out casually, blocking his path. Felix tripped, and went flying through the air. He landed face-down on the floor. His jewelled diadem skittered across the flagstones, and his muscular white legs splayed beneath him. He barely had a moment to recover himself, for Sir Antony and Sir Dominic grabbed him under his armpits, and hauled the panting young man to his feet.

“Surely you don’t intend to leave us so soon, your Highness?” asked the handsome Sir Antony. “These are, after all, your birthday celebrations. You’re not going to desert your own party?”

“Get your filthy hands off me. I am of royal blood,” hissed the Prince.

But Sir Antony merely smirked and gripped him more tightly. “You seem to be without your usual escorts, Sire. Allow us the honour of taking their place.”

Antony and Dominic manhandled the struggling Prince back to the table. Felix tossed his golden locks and looked at his godfather defiantly. “You are making the biggest mistake of your life,” he said.

Lord Geoffrey ignored the threat. “You have been busy in my absence, godson. In little more than six months, you have dismissed and made destitute the bulk of my household, mutilated the local peasants, stolen my possessions, slandered and falsely imprisoned my Chief Steward, and caused the death of my dear uncle, Wilfrid.”

“Says who?” sneered the Prince.

But Raymond knew already the answer to that particular question, and as the drapes behind him parted, his heart sank as he heard the smooth baritone of a familiar voice.

“I have submitted a full report to Lord Geoffrey. The timing of his arrival was most fortuitous. I’m afraid that whatever entertainments we may have tonight to celebrate your birthday, Prince Felix. My demise will not be among them.”

Felix could have spat with fury. There in all his former finery, as smug and handsome as the devil, in a burgundy doublet and sleek black hose stood Alexander Courcey. The Prince made to lunge at the Steward, but between them, Sir Antony and Sir Dominic held him fast.

“You bastard, Courcey!” declared Felix. “I’ll see you in Hell!”

Lord Geoffrey, as calmly stoic as ever, tutted to himself. “Your language, godson, is most unbecoming. That’s no way to address my most loyal servant – particularly whilst you are staying under my roof – and under my protection.” He turned to Antony and Dominic. “Fetch him here!”

Geoffrey’s knights did as they were bidden, dragging the blond Adonis over to their lord and master. The guests in the Hall stared in disbelief at the scene playing out before them, and the apparent fall from grace of the all-powerful Prince.

“It seems to me, Felix, that I have a duty as your godfather to instil some manners into you. You’ve behaved like a spoiled brat since the day you arrived mewling and puking into this world. And because your Father believed the sun shone out of your beautiful arse, you were never once reprimanded or disciplined. Well, I feel responsible for this omission, and I intend to rectify it immediately.”

Geoffrey sat down in his velvet throne and spread his hose-clad legs wide. “I’m going to give you your first spanking, young man.”

Felix blanched. “You wouldn’t dare lay a hand on my body!”

Geoffrey sighed wearily. “This evening is rapidly going to become very tiresome if you keep repeating that same old mantra. Let’s just accept that I have dared. I have dared to depose you, and I am daring to teach you a long overdue lesson, boy.” For the first time, Geoffrey’s eyes flashed dangerously. In that moment, Felix saw the fierce warrior beneath the sophisticated exterior. “Let’s have that pretty little tights-clad bum of yours over your godfather’s knee and you’ll feel the force of my palm!”

Raymond had had enough. He could not see how the Prince could possibly extricate himself from this predicament. Whilst everyone in the Hall was focused on the confrontation between the lord and the prince, he began to slide surreptitiously out of his chair.

Suddenly, a hand clamped firmly down on his shoulder.

“Where are you off to, Master Raymond?” asked Alexander. “Don’t tell me you’ve lost your appetite for partying as well!”

The Steward pulled up a chair next to his usurper and placed a ringed hand high on Raymond’s hosed thigh.

“You’re going to stay and enjoy the fun, aren’t you, lad?”

“It seems I have no choice,” replied Raymond through gritted teeth.

It took the combined strength of both Sir Antony and Sir Dominic to position the struggling Prince over his godfather’s lap, and Felix continued to rage and curse as they did so. The Prince was forced into this new humiliating position, his head dangling and his beautiful bottom, vulnerable in the sparkling, white material, was arranged to Geoffrey’s satisfaction. Sir Antony slid his sword from its scabbard with an ominous scraping sound.

Geoffrey gripped the Prince’s golden hair in his fist and bent to whisper in his ear. “You will take your spanking, boy. If you do not, Antony here will be forced to pierce your smooth flesh with his weapon…”

Raymond couldn’t be entirely sure whether the threat was literal or metaphorical, but either way, he knew the Prince had no choice but to submit to his godfather’s instructions.

Felix screamed with rage but Geoffrey ignored him and instead addressed the rapt spectators. “Young Felix here has been a very naughty boy, my friends. He is to be punished. And his punishment will be prolonged, public, and very humiliating. After all, it is long overdue.” Felix flinched as Geoffrey began gently to caress the royal arse. “This hosed bottom, plump and perky as a peach, lying across my lap is going to get a paddling like you wouldn’t believe!”

The Prince began to writhe and struggle in protest. “If you dare lay one hand on me...!” he gibbered. But Lord Geoffrey merely laughed and raised his arm to administer the opening blow. “You’re never too old for a good spanking, boy!”

Felix gasped as his godfather’s palm made contact with his exquisitely muscled butt. It wasn’t particularly painful, for it was a mild slap at best. It was the utter shock that his divine body had been unceremoniously tipped over his godfather’s lap and his bum spanked like a child. It was utterly inconceivable. It couldn’t truly be happening to him, could it?

“Keep still now, boy, or I’ll spank you harder,” warned Lord Geoffrey as his hands roamed freely over the Prince’s tights-covered, muscular legs and butt. “It must come as a shock finally to be put in your place and given the treatment you’ve deserved for so long!”

Felix was excruciatingly aware of the gaze of the sniggering audience, drinking in the sight of his sacred body lying powerless as he was spanked. “No! No! No!” he cried as his bum began to feel warmed by the paddle-like slaps administered by his godfather.

“You’re no longer in a position to issue commands, Felix - as you will soon realise all too well. Yes, you go ahead – you kick your legs in your pretty white tights, you wriggle your hosed arse and press that lovely cock of yours against my leg. That bum of yours is getting nice and red and warm now, isn’t it? I can feel it heating up nicely through this fine silken hose,” Geoffrey chuckled. “And I think you need to learn some manners, young man. I think I’ll take a “thank you, Uncle Geoffrey” from you as I spank you. Are you ready? This one’s really going to hurt. One, two, three…”

“Owwwwww!!!” cried Felix as Geoffrey’s palm thwacked against the sensitive flesh of his buttocks. “Damn you! I’m a Prince of the realm and I will never plead or beg or grovel to a traitor like you!”

An ominous hush fell across the hall as Geoffrey paused in his use of his godson’s lithe body.

“You know, your Highness. I do believe you’re right. What am I thinking putting you across my knee? You are royal and you should be treated royally. You wanted to become King Felix? Then we should grant your wish. What say you, Alexander?”

Felix raised his head and gazed up at his foe – a baleful expression in his sparkling blue eyes. Alexander ignored the glaring young man and instead, bowed to his lord and master. “I quite agree, my Lord. I believe the time has come for the Prince’s coronation…”