Chapter 64 - A Champagne Celebration

         Will didn’t quite understand it himself, but he knew in the deepest, darkest parts of his soul, he wanted it to happen. He licked his lips, gazed into Alexander’s dark, cat-like eyes and nodded.

Alexander grinned triumphantly. “You won’t regret this, boy.”

Will was divested of his waistcoat and pumps, leaving him wearing only his slave collar and sheer, white tights. Alexander led him in to the bedroom.

“And it seems you’ve finally accepted your true nature,” he hissed in Will’s ear. “You struggled at first, I know. But now you know you need to be used and abused. You’re just my tights-wearing bitch boy.”

Alexander took Will’s wrist and led him to the bed. He took a silk scarf and tied Will’s left arm to one bed-post, and then his right arm to another. He drank in the sight of the sexy, bare-chested youth, clad only in his clinging white tights. He was aware of the all too apparent danger that might come from merely gazing at the boy. All these months of fantasising …He hadn’t dared dream that he would ever be able to use the page-boy again. And now he could.

Will looked up at his master anxiously. There was no turning back now. He had willingly submitted to whatever Alexander had in store for him. He tugged slightly, testing the bonds at his wrists, but they were secured as surely as night follows day. He writhed a little, enjoying the sensation of the silken sheets against his hosiery, knowing the sight of him wriggling his legs would excite Alexander. 

The next thing he knew, that familiar bottle of potion was thrust under his nose.

“Breathe deep, bitch,” murmured Alexander. And Will did so.

The potion coursed through his veins, making every fibre of his being feel charged with eroticism. 

“Open wide, slut.”

Will did as he was told, and was rewarded with another mouthful of champagne as Alexander kissed him: long and hard and deep.

Then Alexander’s warm, manly hands were all over his body: stroking, groping, pinching. His nipples were taken between Alexander’s lips and nibbled till they became hard and erect. Will groaned in ecstasy as Alexander rubbed his hard cock through the sheer fabric of his white tights.

Then he felt Alexander’s face buried between his arse cheeks: his master breathing in the scent of Will’s rosebud hole. Alexander’s tongue pressed through the hosiery, pushing and probing at that darkest and most intimate of places. Will moaned again. 

“Yes, Sir, please, Sir,” he incanted.

“What, boy? Tell me what you want.”
“I want … I need you in me, Sir. I need my tights master in my boy hole.”

“Oh how your master loves to hear you beg…”

Will gasped as he felt Alexander’s fingers tearing the delicate material. And then it came - the glorious sensation of Alexander’s wet tongue slobbering at his hole, at first merely licking and teasing at the edges, before pushing deep, deep inside of him.

Pre-cum leaked from Will’s excited cock, staining the front of his tights. Alexander had not lied when he told Will he would devote himself exclusively to the younger man’s pleasure. Will’s hole was licked and sucked with the expertise of a Dunchester whore, and Will gasped in ecstasy as his sensitive opening was pleasured by Alexander’s tongue.

Eventually, just as Will began to think he might climax from the sheer sensation of being rimmed, Alexander knelt up.

“As this is a celebration, my lad, I think it calls for more champagne, don’t you?”

Alexander slipped into the other room and fetched a couple of bottles from the ice bucket. “I’m going to give that hole of yours a real treat, boy.”

Will gazed up woozily and watched Alexander uncork the bottle.

“Let’s get it nice and fizzy, eh?”

Alexander placed his hand over the aperture and proceeded to shake the bottle vigorously.

“Here we go…”

Then, removing his palm at the very last moment, he pushed the neck of the bottle into Will’s well-lubricated arsehole.

Will cried out in shock as he felt the ice cold liquid shoot inside him. It wasn’t the first time his guts had been flooded with alcohol: that had been at the hands of the devious Ebony, back in the filth and squalor of Lunk’s hideout. But that had been mere cheap grog, not this luxurious libation, directly from Sir Geoffrey’s wine cellar.

“What an extravagant treat, for you, young pageboy! A champagne enema!” Alexander cried.

The acid liquid stung his sphincter, and Will’s body convulsed with shock as the gassy fluid flooded deep into his bowels: “Ah! Ah! Ah!”

Alexander lifted Will’s ankles over his head so his arse was pointing up in the air, ensuring the bottle was vertical so its contents could more easily glug into the boy’s anal cavity. Then he started to fuck Will with the bottle itself - in and out, in and out - depositing even more of the champagne into the lad’s helpless body as he did so.

Eventually, Alexander withdrew the bottle and its still fizzing contents began to spray around the room. 

“Open wide, boy! Take a good swig!”

Alexander tipped the liquid into Will’s mouth, the younger lad gulping eagerly to try and swallow its contents.

“Drinking champagne at both ends of your body,” murmured Alexander. “How delightful decadent! Oops-a-daisy - it looks like I’m being a little careless.”

And with that, he began to pour the liquid all over Will’s body, letting it fall in spurts, first soaking the boy’s hair and face, before proceeding to drench his white tights. Will quickly began to feel light-headed as the alcohol infused his bloodstream. His cock remained hard as ever as Alexander baptised him with the champagne: an obscene parody of the religious rite. Alexander himself took a swig from the bottle. 

“Excellent vintage!” he declared. “Only the best for you, my sweet little slut!”

Then he was back kneeling between the boy’s thighs. Alexander massaged Will’s pulsing arsehole with his fingers, and then, without warning, he plunged the bottle back into the orifice, depositing the rest of the champagne inside the boy’s bum. Only once he was sure the bottle was empty, did Alexander remove it, tossing it casually into the corner of the room.

“It’s no use,” he admitted. “I cannot wait any longer.”

And with that, he lowered Will’s tights-clad legs and rested them on his own shoulders. 

“I don’t think I’ve fucked a boy with an arse full of champagne before…”
Will held his breath in preparation for the onslaught. He did not have to wait long. It had been several months since he had been penetrated by a real cock: not since the thieves and ruffians of Lunk’s gang had subjected him to their relentless onslaught. The Abbot, after all, had stopped short of putting his own stubby dick inside him - a fact for which Will was eternally grateful - and had instead used only his fingers and the wooden dildo on Will’s puckered opening. It had been even longer since he had been fucked by Alexander’s sinuous man-meat. But once experienced, the Chief Steward’s prick was not easily forgotten. Will gritted his teeth as he felt the mushroom head nudging at his sphincter. And as Alexander forced it inside him, a cry of agony and ecstasy escaped from his throat, just as a spurt of champagne escaped from his arse. The acidic fluid made Will’s hole tingle on its exit just as it had on its way in, but it was not at all an unpleasant sensation. Alexander paused for a moment to allow Will to become accustomed to the presence of that monstrous cock inside him. And then he began his onslaught: slowly at first, and then with growing urgency, rocking back and forth. As Alexander’s cock churned up the gassy liquid, Will could not help but emit a loud belch.

Alexander merely laughed. “Oh your sweet, satiny chute is as delightful as ever! That’s it boy, clamp down on my cock. Remember how good it feels to have your tights-master fucking you…”

Will did remember. And there was no resistance now: no guilt or anxiety.  There was no point fighting it any longer. He finally accepted his vocation. He was a tights slut. He existed merely to provide pleasure to his master. And finally he admitted to himself that he wanted it, needed it, indeed craved it, just as much as Alexander did.

Alexander’s cock continued to plunge into the lagoon of champagne inside Will’s arse. The last time he had fucked Will was on the dirty dungeon floor, in the straw and the piss; a stolen, frightened, desperate fuck, certain it would be the last chance he’d ever get to possess this beautiful boy. And now, he thought, look at the squirming little slut! Will’s white tights were rendered transparent from the soaking with the champagne, the potion coursed through the lad’s body, his hole clenching against Alexander’s cock as he ploughed in and out of that sexy little body.

It was no use. He could hold back no longer. With a triumphant cry of ecstasy, Alexander came, shooting his load into Will’s body, as another spurt of champagne leaked from the page-boy’s arse. Will’s body bucked as Alexander filled him with his jism, lacing the champagne with his cum.

Alexander’s orgasm went on and on: all the pent-up months of desire for the peasant boy finally fulfilled. After what felt like an eternity, he withdrew his cock, champagne and semen dripping from its end and, squatting beside Will’s face, slapped him across the cheek with it.

“Lick it, bitch,” he commanded, and Will did so: his tongue lapping up the droplets as eagerly as a mongrel laps up water from the street.

“Now, do you want to cum, too?” he teased. “Or shall I just leave you here, tied up until pretty little Iris comes to change the bed linen?’

“Oh, please, Sir,” gasped Will. “Please let me cum!”

His cock strained against the enclosure of his clinging white hose. 

“Hmm… We shall see. Let’s top you up first.”

Alexander strode into the other room and fetched another bottle of champagne. 

“You’re to keep the rest of that champagne inside you. I want you to release it when you cum.

Alexander shook the new bottle vigorously, a leering grin spreading evilly across his face. Then, quick as a flash, the bottle was uncorked, and losing as little of the fizzy drink as possible, he rammed the opening up Will’s pulsing hole.

Will almost came in that instant as once again the cold shock of the champagne shot deep inside his body. His stomach gurgled and cramped as Alexander filled him up.

“Breathe, boy, enjoy those cramps as they torture your poor guts! They’re your reward, after all!”

The discomfort of his cramping belly only turned Will on even more: Alexander’s hands seemed to be everywhere, forcing more of the potion under his nose, groping him through his sodden tights, tweaking, pinching, slapping, rubbing, and finally wanking Will’s rock-hard dick through the sheer hosiery.

The bottle was withdrawn, and now Will’s task was to keep the fluid inside him, as his bowels gurgled and churned. He clenched his sphincter tight, every sinew straining to obey his Tights-master’s order. 

Alexander wanked Will’s cock urgently, frantically. And just as Will felt the sensation building, and just as he was about to come, Alexander abruptly stopped.

“Oh I could spend all night long edging you closer and closer, boy. Imagine it! To be brought so close only to be perpetually denied the ecstasy of release.”

Will could hardly imagine anything more devastating - and tantalising.

Soon Alexander was rubbing Will’s cock again, just as another cramp hit the boy’s belly. Alexander prodded and rubbed Will’s bulging abdomen.

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” cried Will. “Oh I’m close, Sir! I’m so close!”

“Then come for me, Tights-bitch, and spray that champagne enema out of your slutty hole!!”

Will did not need to be told twice. As the next wave of cramps hit him, he squeezed his bowels, and the flood of liquid spurted out of his anus, just as his thick cock streamed wave after wave of wet hot jism into his sodden tights. He screamed in ecstasy as Alexander laughed joyfully to see the effect his erotic ministrations had had on the boy.

The orgasm seemed to go on and on and on. But eventually the waves subsided, and the panting boy lay gasping for breath, soaked, but happy. The scarves at his wrists were loosened and he was released from his bondage.

And then Alexander held him, in a warm and affectionate embrace. The older man gazed down thoughtfully at the peasant boy.

“And did we enjoy that, my little tights-slut?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, Sir,” gasped Will. “Oh yes, I did.”

“Your quest was successful then, my friend.”

Sir Geoffrey smiled benignly at his Steward.

“It was indeed, my Lord. The page boy seems remarkably resilient. In spite of his travails at the hands of Prince Felix, and his adventures on the road, the boy has survived.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Alexander. What will become of him now? Is he to return to his duties at the castle?”

“I think not, my Lord. I am still mulling over his future. With your permission, I think I shall keep him lodged in my chambers. At least for now.”

“Given your loyal service, I think making a gift to you of this particularly enchanting young man is the least I can do.”

“My Lord.” Alexander bowed deeply.

“Now, to other matters. Christmas will soon be upon us, and after the terrors and traumas that we have all suffered over the past year and a half, I think we should throw a Winter festival here at the castle and invite all the villagers and townsfolk from miles around. What say you, my friend?”

“A wonderful idea. And perhaps - I can arrange some entertainment?”

‘Alexander, you know, I think that would be a wonderful idea.”

Chapter 28 - Into Chastity and Into a Nappy

“Breakfast is served, your highness!”

Raymond swept into the royal bedchamber, bowing low as he did so and as he knew his royal master would expect.

Humphrey, the fat page boy, followed him in, bearing a tray laden with fruit, ham, bread and, naturally enough, eggs. Humphrey glanced at the young man who had only two days before been his equal, but was now his master.

“Leave them on the side, piglet, and go.”

“Yes, Raym – I mean, sorry, yes, Sir.”

Raymond’s eyes narrowed and Humphrey scurried away fearfully.

“You have taken to your new position quite effortlessly, I see,” laughed Prince Felix, as he lounged indolently beneath his silken sheets.

Raymond bowed again. “I wish only to justify your highness’ faith in me.”

Felix pulled back the sheets, and Raymond gulped to see that god-like body revealed in all its nakedness: the strong, smooth pectorals, the rippling abdominals, the long, muscular thighs, and his perky cock, semi-hard, with a fuzz of blond hair at its root. The Prince showed no sign of self-consciousness. And why should he? His body was the most beautiful Raymond had ever seen.

The blond Adonis ran a hand through his flowing locks.

“I wish to bathe. Run me a bath, will you?”

Raymond nodded. “I will order hot water to be fetched at once, Sire.”

Felix crossed to his wardrobe and began admiring his nude form in the floor length mirror. He pulled open the closet door and touched one of his bejewelled tunics that hung therein. He pulled open a drawer and extracted a neatly folded pair of bright green tights. He let them unroll and held them against his naked flesh.

“May I ask your plans for today, your highness?”

“If the weather is fine again, I shall go riding.”

Raymond hesitated. “Is that prudent, Sire? After the attempt on your life” –

“Ha!” scoffed the Prince. “You think I fear that ragbag of peasants? I am protected by God, remember! He guided you to save me from that murderous fool, and he will do so again if any other evil-doer dares attempt to do harm to my royal person.”

He tossed the silken hose onto the bed and turned to regard his royal rump in the looking-glass.

“Besides, Odin and Ulfgar will have terrified them all into obedience by now.”

            You have to admire his self-confidence, mused Raymond, not to mention his arse.

            “Will you be requiring any ‘entertainment’ from the royal pages today, my Lord?”

            “Ah – are you wondering whether you will be required to don your pink tights suit once again, Steward?”

            Raymond smiled obsequiously at his teasing royal master.

            “Don’t worry. I’m bored of seeing you four grubby youths grovelling before me. And I’ve no further desire to see that young blond one driven into a sexual frenzy from wallowing in his own filth, either.”

            Raymond saw his chance. “Ah yes, Sire. About him… I thought I might personally undertake some further training of that particular brat.”

            Prince Felix raised an inquiring eyebrow.

            “His depravity,” continued Raymond, “is a direct result of the tutelage he received under the perverted Alexander Courcey. I have some ideas on how I can control some of his baser urges and make him a more suitable choice to wait on your highness.”

            The Prince shrugged. “Do with him whatever you see fit.”

            A slow smile spread across Raymond’s face. Oh, he thought to himself, I intend to do just that.

            “Feeling nervous, goat-shit? You should be. If I were you, I’d be feeling fucking terrified.”

            Will had been anticipating this moment, and, now that it had finally come, a peculiar kind of calm came over him. He was standing, head bowed, in Alexander’s old chamber, where he had been summoned by the new Chief Steward of the castle.

            Raymond was dressed in his new finery: black hose speckled with shimmering silver stars, and a black, tight-fitting leather jerkin.

            “I’ve been given the task of dealing with you and your disgusting little perversions, Will. Look at you! Even now your cock is bobbing with excitement at the prospect of a verbal dressing-down from me.”

            It was true, Will realised in anguish. His hard stub of a cock was quite clearly causing an obvious tenting in his bright blue tights.

            “I know the traitor Alexander used to get himself horny at the sight of young men’s cocks bulging in their indecently tight-fitting hose. But I think as a page in a royal household, a little more decorum is in order. Pull your tights down to your knees, boy.”

            Will reluctantly did as he was commanded, his bum in the air as he pulled his hosiery down to expose his naked flesh.

            Raymond tutted. “Still rock hard, eh? This kind of treatment just drives you crazy, doesn’t it?”

            Will inwardly cursed his rebellious dick. Go down, go down, he repeated to himself. Go down, you stupid cock! But it resolutely refused to do as it was bidden.

            “Very well,” Raymond went on. “If the only way to get your prick to soften is for you to come, then that’s what you must do. Get on your hands and knees, goat-shit.”

            Will made to yank up his tights to regain a shred of modesty, but Raymond snapped at him.

            “Oh no, I didn’t tell you to pull your tights up, did I? Come over here and get on your knees!”

            With his hose halfway down his legs, Will could only waddle across the room. And when he had done so, he assumed the position on the floor, his arse sticking up and out, his head hanging low.

Raymond slipped his foot out of his leather boot and pushed it into Will’s face. Will inhaled the musky aroma of the foot, encased in its sensuous black hose.

            “Lick it!”

            Will did as he was ordered, and in that moment, he knew he was a hopeless, powerless slutboy, with no choice or say whatsoever over what happened to him next. His tongue worked over the tights-clad foot, down the side, the heel, pushing between Raymond’s toes until the clinging material was damp with his saliva.

            “That’s all you’re good for, you pussy bitch. To lick my feet!”

             Suddenly Raymond withdrew his foot, and quick as a flash, Will felt its damp touch, resting on his bare buttocks instead. Raymond wiped his hosed foot all over Will’s arse until it came to rest in the crack between Will’s impossibly peachy cheeks.

            “Your boy cunt is going to get some use, now. Never again am I going to be raped by that fucking monster. That will be your place now. To be used by Odin the Viking as his sex toy whenever he fancies a girl to fuck and has to make do with a boy.”

            He pushed his foot deeper so that Will could feel Raymond’s hosed big toe - warm and wet - forcing itself relentlessly against the puckered lips of his asshole.

            “And his cock is a monster, goat-shit. You’ve never felt anything like it. He’ll use you without mercy too. He won’t care if you scream or beg. In fact he likes that. The girlier you sound, and the more you cry and plead, the more it turns him on. He’ll love raping you.”

            “No, Raymond, please, no…”

            “Shut the fuck up, bitch!”

            And with that, the older youth jumped on Will’s back. Will felt the incredibly fine material of Raymond’s tights rubbing against him, as his enemy’s bum rocked back and forth on his lower back.

            With one hand, Raymond began spanking Will’s arse, whilst with the other he reached under and began yanking at the blond page boy’s cock: fiercely and without mercy.

            “You love this, don’t you, slut? Me spanking your bum and milking your cock. Like one of the cows in your father’s barn. I’m tugging at your pathetic little pecker. Breeding you. Milking you. Wanking your dirty little cock till you explode. Tights round your knees. Arse in the air. A fucking filthy little whore boy. And you love it…”

            His touch was rough and callous, but his monologue did the trick, and Will sobbed with relief and humiliation as his cock spurted onto the flagstones: white cum falling in droplets to the floor.

            Raymond dismounted in disgust, wiping his hand – wet with Will’s semen – across the boy’s bum to dry it off.

            “Now,” he remarked. “Perhaps, finally, I can fit you with your new device. Stand up!”

            Will – both sets of cheeks rosy from his climax – pulled himself to his feet as his cock, at long last, began to droop into flaccidity. He turned to Raymond, wondering what fresh torment might next be in store for him, only to see the other youth holding a strange metal device. It was a slightly curved cylinder of steel - a ring at one end and at the other, a narrow slit in the metal.

            “I’d like to introduce you to your chastity cage,” smirked Raymond. “You’ll be spending a lot of time in its company. Let me show you how it works.”

            First, Raymond lifted Will’s balls and pushed them through the steel ring. Then he took the newly soft penis and gently threaded it into the metal cylinder. Lastly, a small padlock was fixed to the chastity device. Will’s lip trembled as he began to appreciate the implications of it all.

            “You’ll still be able to piss through the hole at the end. But you won’t be able to touch your cock. And if you even think about getting hard, it’s going to be very painful for you. The space inside that tube is so tight. You won’t be able to get an erection even! I’m in total control of when - or if - you get to touch your boy prick ever again. I hope you enjoyed that orgasm, Will. It’s the last one you’ll be having in quite some time.”

            “Raymond, please” –

            “It’s Sir to you!” shrieked Raymond, squeezing Will’s balls as he did so. “And think yourself fucking lucky. I could have these whipped off and you’d spend the rest of your life as a eunuch. That would solve your embarrassing problem of getting hard at inappropriate moments with one simple stroke…”

            Will fell instantly silent.

            “Very well. Pull your tights up.”

            Will did so, the strange cold sensation of the metal against his prick, weighting it down, was perturbing. Instantly he found that he missed the feeling of the soft nylon of his tights caressing his genitals.

            “No, no, no,” tutted Raymond. “That will never do. The chastity device gives you a bulge in your hose that is positively indecent. And – to be frank – is more flattering than your pathetic little stub deserves.”

            Raymond peeled the waistband of Will’s blue tights down, so that once again his arse was bare and exposed. Will’s hopes rose. Would Raymond remove the cruel chastity device after all?!

            Raymond paused in mock-contemplation. “I have just the thing!” he announced. And with a flourish, he produced a small bundle of white cloth. Will was not deceived for a moment. Raymond had planned this, all down to the last detail.

            “Stand still, goat-shit.”

            Will did so as Raymond came to stand behind him. With a sinking feeling of dismay and despair, Will felt the cloth being passed between his legs and wrapped around his arse and groin. Raymond pulled the material up as snug as possible, and then pinned it with a large metal fastening. Raymond had put him in a big, padded nappy.

            “Much better!” the dark-haired lad crowed. “Now pull your tights up, bitch, and let’s see what that looks like!”

            He had no choice, and Will mournfully pulled the stretchy fabric back up, only this time it had to stretch considerably more in order to cover the large bulky diaper that he was wearing.

            “You look truly ridiculous, baby boi!”

            Will caught a glimpse of himself in the looking-glass. The sleek and sexually alluring silhouette which had so enticed Alexander was gone. Instead of the scintillating promise of his bulging cock and rounded arse cheeks, was the inelegant and humiliating bulge of the thick nappy. His groin now smooth and flat – his bum inflated and huge.

            “One final touch, I think,” mused Raymond. And he threaded a thin leather belt round Will’s waist. Like the chastity device, he locked it with a padlock. And he pocketed the key in a pouch at his side.

            “You’d better get used to wearing your nappy, goat-shit. You’ll resist as long as you can but sooner or later you’ll have to piss yourself and shit yourself in it. I might choose to let you change it occasionally. If you’re lucky.”

             

            “You look pleased with yourself, Steward. I take it you have had a productive morning?”

            The Prince, now dressed in his bright green tights and doublet, looked up as Raymond entered the royal presence once more.

            “Most productive, your highness. The junior page boy will not be embarrassing himself or you anymore.”

            “I’m glad to hear it.”

            “Did the other pages fill your bath for you, Sire?”

            “They did. It’s waiting for me in the next room.”

            Raymond hesitated. “Is there anything else you require, your highness?”

            “Yes. It’s raining, blast the weather. And I had set my heart on riding out on Thunderer.”

            “I live to serve you, my Lord. But even I cannot command the elements.”

            “I’m aware of that. But I’m in dire need of some physical exercise.”

            The Prince began to unbutton his close-fitting doublet to reveal his smooth and unblemished chest. He flung the tunic on to a nearby armchair and stood there, his upper body naked, his sole garment his impossibly snug green tights.

            “As I was growing up, I would often try my strength in trials against the sons of my father’s courtiers.”

            “Your highness?”

            “Take off that jerkin. Immediately.”

            Raymond did as he was instructed, and soon he was also naked, save for his black, star-spangled hose. His body was slimmer and less well-developed than the Prince. At five years his royal master’s junior, he had not had the same military training. Physically, he was only just recovered from his terrible sojourn in the bedroom of Sir Wilfrid. A trial of strength? What could the beautiful Prince mean?

            “Come here.”

Raymond did as he was ordered. An enigmatic smile played around Felix’s lips as he lifted up an ornate green bottle from a nearby table.

            “Oil,” he explained curtly as he poured some into his palms.

            Raymond quivered in surprise as the Prince walked up to him and began rubbing the thick liquid into his chest. Deftly, the Prince moved onto Raymond’s arms, until all of the new Steward’s torso was well-oiled and glistening.

            “Now, you oil me. It makes for a more challenging contest.”

            Raymond breathed deeply as he laid his oily palms onto the Prince’s golden body. He could not be sure, but he suspected Felix knew just what a devastating effect his beauty and his close physical proximity was having on his servant. Raymond desperately wished to linger over the Prince’s pert pink nipples as he brushed the oil across them. He was longing to pinch and tweak them as he did so, but he controlled himself, and stuck to the job in hand, although his cock was pulsing in his fine black tights.

            “The winner is he who gains submission from his opponent,” whispered the Prince conspiratorily. “Now, let us wrestle!”

Chapter 25 - A smashing time

            Alexander lay alone in the filthy dungeon, reliving every exquisite moment of his mastery of the farmhand. Even years on, and with so many similar experiences that he could call to mind, the tormenting, torturing and humiliation of Peter of Mickelsfield remained a highlight. Such a perfect physical specimen - combined with the pure, dumb innocence of the lad. At any stage, he and his friends could have resisted, even overpowered him completely. But Alexander’s confidence – his arrogance - had overwhelmed them. And he’d persuaded an entire village to do his bidding.

            Alexander recalled the salty tears pouring down the face of the broken Peter, as the younger man regarded his reflection in the looking-glass. In mere hours, Alexander had reduced the village hero to a humiliated queerboy, grovelling on his back in the dirty straw, tights-covered legs spread wide, arse stuffed with a rope of weighted, leather balls. The last of the balls stuck out obscenely and ridiculously from Peter’s pouting pink pussy lips.

            Alexander beckoned the barmaid, Griselde, to the front of the group of spectators. He saw the confusion and distaste on her face, and the realisation on Peter’s that she would never be able to look at him in the same way again.

            “Come, fellows,” he ordered Peter’s fellow farmworkers. “Your friend needs your assistance. The final part of his forfeit. You have all seen how aroused he has been by the games we have played this delightful summer evening. His manmeat is straining for release. It seems only fair that we allow him this satisfaction, after the entertainment he has provided for us all, don’t you think?”

            One of the thick-headed peasants – Martin? Rodney? – stumbled forward, and Alexander guided the callused and clumsy hand towards their friend’s veined and rigid penis.

            Peter began to sob audibly at the humiliation of being jerked off – roughly and inexpertly – by his reluctant friend. But even attention as crude as this must needs excite a horny young man, and before long, precum began to drool from the tip of Peter’s fine prick. His breathing became rapid and shallow, his fine muscular body began to tense: Alexander was experienced enough to recognise the signs of imminent climax.

            “Stop now!” he commanded, and instantly, as if scalded, the peasant withdrew his fist. The wanking ceased and Peter’s cock was left, bobbing in agony, denied its final, pleasurable reward.

            Alexander allowed the danger to subside, and then nodded for the yokel to begin his ministrations once more. A second time Peter approached orgasm, and yet again, Alexander frustrated him.

            Clicking his finger at the other farmhand – Rodney? Martin? – Alexander guided him to where the fourth anal ball still nestled provocatively, half-in, half-out of Peter’s gaping anus, and to the small metal ring at the end of the leather rope.

            More wanking, and now Peter the handsome farmhand was moaning and begging for release from his torment.

            “What was that? You want to be allowed to cum, do you? Now that I’ve reduced you to a dirty little whore, lying on your back in the straw, legs spread, arse stuffed with my wicked little balls, you think you deserve sexual satisfaction, do you?”

            “Look at you – your pathetic cock being milked by your fellow farmhand in the same way as he milks his cows! That cock that’s been rock hard ever since I dressed you in those delightfully sissy yellow tights. Showing off every muscle and bulge of your fine slaveboy physique!”

            “Do you see what you have become? Do you see what I have made you into? My hosed slut. My tights-wearing bitch boy. I’ve cleaned out your arse, transformed you into my slave, and stuffed your pussy with my degrading rope of anal balls. The whole village is gathered to see the humiliation of their ‘hero’. And all you can do now is beg me to allow you to come? Is that right? Well then, beg me, bitch. Beg me and I might just allow you to spurt your seed all over these fine yellow tights that you have soiled with your sweat and your filth!”

            Insane, desperate now, his mind filled with nothing other than the primal need to achieve climax, Peter had begged. Oh, how he had begged! Alexander had heard well-practiced slut boys, the best actors you had ever seen, beg for sexual satisfaction, but none had even approached the urgency, the desire, the desperation of that rough, gorgeous diamond of a hunk in that unprepossessing little village.

            “Please, Sir, please, Sir, I beg you. I need it so badly. Please, please let me come!”

            And as the sweat-soaked, muscular body began to tense and buck in the throes of orgasm, Alexander had given the signal, and the farmhand’s friend tugged at the little metal ring. The four leather balls were yanked from inside that beautiful body in one sharp movement. A primeval scream of agony and ecstasy rang out as the balls evacuated Peter’s swollen, quivering and well-stretched hole. And simultaneously, great, warm, wet arcs of thick, white cum sprayed into the hazy evening air, splattering over the young man’s chest and legs, staining his yellow tights. Globules of semen landed on that manly jaw, full lips, bronzed cheeks, and long eyelashes.

            Alexander had not hung around. The spell was broken, and he was all too aware that things could now turn nasty. Most of the villagers had been drinking, and, aroused by the spectacle they had witnessed, a heavily, animalistic lust seemed to hang heavily in the oppressive heat. He gathered up his bulb douche, along with the anal balls, still wet and dripping with the gloopy lubricant and the anal mucus from Peter’s arse, and he strode away to his horse.

            He glanced back once, only to realise his caution was unnecessary. The men of the village were gathered in a circle around the prone and exhausted form of their erstwhile hero, each of them now wanking enthusiastically over the humiliated and broken young man.

            Alexander slipped around the corner and freed his own rock hard prick from the constriction of his fine, grey, silken hose. A snort from his precious glass bottle, and soon his cock was also pumping its creamy jism onto the dusty ground.

            And then, his reverie broken, Alexander was forced to contemplate his current predicament. In the grim and filthy dungeon of de Montford Castle.

            Would he ever experience mastery of another man like that again, he wondered ruefully. Or was he truly now as powerless as that poor, beautiful, broken farmhand had been? Alexander did not know, but as he lay there that night, he knew hope had been rekindled by the unexpected bravery of that sexy little brat he had plucked from obscurity all those months before. He could not explain the lad’s loyalty, given the sexual humiliation he had dished out to the new page boy. Maybe it was no such thing. Perhaps it was merely Prince Felix toying with him again – raising his hopes only to dash them once more. All he could do was acknowledge that for once, he was not in control of his own destiny. And that for now, all he could do was wait.

* * * *

It had been like a dream. Now in the cold light of day, Will could scarcely believe that he’d had the nerve to carry out such a desperate scheme.

Even a moment to reflect on the madness of his plan and he would have stayed safely tucked up beneath his blanket. But the moment had presented itself and his vague feeling of outrage that Prince Felix was condemning Alexander to a particularly cruel demise had taken over. And it was done now. There was no going back.

As he went about his morning chores - the mundane fetching and carrying - he relived it all: the dash across the courtyard, all the time fumbling with the dungeon key as he removed it from its fellows on the key-ring; the relief to find that, upon returning to the dormitory, Mortimer was still fast asleep and Humphrey nowhere to be seen, whilst Odin still grunted and ground away at Raymond’s arse. The precious key was now well hidden in Will’s bedding and all he could do was hope and pray that its theft would go unnoticed.

Breakfast that morning was an ill-humoured affair. Mistress Olwen was still smarting from her confrontation with Raymond the night before. Raymond and Humphrey both sat at the breakfast table rather gingerly, each of their unfortunate bottoms still smarting from the abuse they had suffered during the night. Raymond, naturally enough, was too proud to admit to the other pages what he had been subjected to. (Although Will thought it was faintly ludicrous  to attempt to maintain one’s dignity in a pink bodysuit that made one resemble a prawn.)

Of course, Humphrey had no such compunction and spent the entire time complaining about the torture his guts were undergoing, and the fact that his arsehole was burning from the traffic it had experienced all through the night. It would almost have been enough to put Will off the egg he was eating, had he not been so ravenous. An egg for breakfast these days was a rare luxury, after all.

“Don’t you dare tell a soul!” warned Mistress Olwen. “I’m supposed to be giving you all bread and gruel. And Lord knows that’s what I should do given the respect you boys show to me. But look at this! Eighty fresh eggs ordered by his Highness from Lord Geoffrey’s estate. And not even he and his goons can eat that many, I’ll wager!”

Lingering outside the Prince’s chamber that afternoon, Humphrey was feeling especially sorry for himself.

“It’s all right for you. That’s two contests in a row that I’ve lost. Anything athletic I don’t stand a chance,” he whimpered.

Quick as a flash, Raymond grabbed the boy’s balls through the clinging pink tights.

Squeezing hard, he hissed in Humphrey’s ear. “Shut the fuck up, fatboy. I’m sick of your whinging.”

“Owww!” squealed Humphrey.  “You’ve always thought you were better than the rest of us, Raymond!”

Raymond glared at him contemptuously. “That” – he spat – “is because I possess a brain as well as a body. And I intend to use it.”

And now it was that time again. Prince Felix sat resplendent in scarlet tunic and hose, magnificent leather boots reaching all the way to mid-thigh. He looked the four pages up and down. Will and the others stood in front of him in his humiliating pink suit.

“Pull down your hoods, worms,” ordered the Prince.

Like the others, Will did as he was instructed, slipping the pink hose-hood back, to reveal his tousled blond locks. With the familiar fluttering sensation present in his stomach, he wondered what might be in store for him and his fellow slaves today.

Will shifted from one hosed foot to the other in fear, hoping against hope that the theft of the dungeon key and his desperate attempt to save Alexander’s life had not been discovered.

However, nothing in the arrogant Prince’s demeanour indicated that it was to be anything other than business as usual for the hapless page boys.

“Don’t look so terrified,” sneered the Prince.

Was the removal of the hood a pre-cursor to their pink suits being taken from them all together, Will wondered. He realised, with a little surprise and no little shame, that a part of him would be sorry if that were indeed to be the case. He had to admit that a part of him did enjoy being on display in this fashion: his muscular thighs caressed by the pink tights, his pert arse, jutting out – vulnerable and exposed in the thin layer of shiny material.

“Boys, you are to stay perfectly still and on no account are you to turn around,” continued their Adonis of a master, an amused expression on his face. “As it will soon be Easter, today’s contest takes a seasonal theme! Odin! Ulfgar! Bring in the eggs!”

            The Norse brutes appeared, dragging between them a basket heavily laden with the freshest hens’ eggs. What was this latest dastardly and kinky game devised by the haughty young prince?

            Soon all became clear.

            “It’s all very straightforward. You will each have twenty fresh eggs slipped down the back of your tights suit,” announced Odin.

            Ulfgar placed the familiar, crude wooden stool in front of Will and the other pages.

            “Your task is simple: you must each try to smash as many of the eggs as you can in one go by sitting down on this stool – as hard as you can. Each of you will have one chance. The remaining eggs will be counted and whichever of you has smashed the fewest will be dubbed the loser. Is that understood?”

            Will shuddered as, one after another, fresh brown hens’ eggs were rolled down his back inside his pink garment. One by one, they accumulated at the gusset. Glancing at Raymond, he noticed that his cunning nemesis was subtly shifting the eggs into the crack of his bum to enable more to be cracked when the moment came. Will wriggled slightly and endeavoured to do the .

            Soon all four pages’ suits had been stuffed with the eggs, and each of their arses bulged with lumps and bumps. Will found himself feeling more ridiculous than ever at the heaviness clustered around his backside.

            Odin spoke again.

            “At my signal, one by one, you will each sit down on the stool behind you. Are you ready?”

            The four unfortunate lads nodded miserably.

            “Then begin.”

            The leering Viking first pointed his callused finger at Mortimer, and the skinny lad, sighing heavily, sat down firmly on the stool. His face contorted into a grimace as the sound of smashing eggs filled the room. Will noted, with dismay, the gloopy goo of the yolk and white started to seep through the pink material of the tights.

            “Next!”

            Raymond, his face as hard and stoic as ever, thrust his egg-laden arse down on the stool. He bit his lip as the shells cracked and splintered, but otherwise registered no reaction.

            Then it was Humphrey’s turn. Will could well imagine that Humphrey’s discomfort was only exacerbated by the notion that the eggs clustered around his bum were going to be wasted, when they could have found a happier home in his hungry stomach. The pressure as the fat boy’s bottom plummeted downwards was too much for the little wooden stool, and Will winced as its flimsy legs gave way. The sound of numerous eggs cracking was joined by a resounding rattle as Humphrey’s bottom bounced on the floor. The plump page emitted a sorrowful little sob.

            Prince Felix rolled his eyes languidly, as he turned his attention to Will, the fourth and final victim.

            “And now for the horny little bitch,” he said. “How many eggs can you smash? And I did say eggs – not the furniture.”

            Will screwed his eyes shut and with all the strength he could muster, sat down firmly on the stool. Instantly, he felt the eggs’ thin membranes beginning to crack. Sharp little splinters of shell dug into his young skin, and their viscous, liquid contents exploded against his flesh. The sensation of the cold, wet fluid on his bum, round his balls and bursting against his arsehole was sudden, shocking, and terrifically arousing. And to Will’s horror, the feeling of the gunky goo staining his tights caused him, once again, to lose control. He cried out in astonishment as, quite spontaneously, untouched and unbidden, his hard boy cock bucked and pumped creamy cum into his pink bodysuit. His body shuddered and shivered with the power of the orgasm, as humiliating as it was unexpected.

            Sinuously, the feline form of Prince Felix rose from his throne and slowly stalked over to the quivering page boy. The height of the low stool ensured that Will found himself squatting directly in front of the Prince’s bulging scarlet crotch. His muscular thighs tensed in his hose, the material stretched tight over those divinely proportioned limbs.

            “You dirty little boy. Once again you have defiled yourself. You squat there in those broken eggs, the goop and goo oozing round your groin and buttocks. You are filth, bitch. And you know it…”

Chapter 16 - Encased in Tights

Lord Geoffrey’s birthday celebrations had been deemed a great success. The evening had degenerated into a night of drunken debauchery. And for once, the strict regime at the castle was allowed to lapse a little. Even Mistress Olwen had to admit that the feast was indeed magnificent, although only the most adventurous of the guests dared to taste some of the dish of the day – Francois’ exotic “Coq au crème”. Those who did declared that it was utterly divine.

Geoffrey asked Alexander if the slave boy had indeed been roasted and if it was his carcass that now adorned the dinner table. Alexander replied with an enigmatic smile that he would beg to be allowed to keep that particular information a birthday secret, but something told Geoffrey that all was not as it had seemed.

Eventually, everyone made their way to their beds: Raymond perched miserably on the shrivelled Sir Wilfrid’s lap, and Sir Antony and his three companions disappeared into Lord Geoffrey’s bedchamber for a kind of entertainment Will could only imagine.

Will himself, meanwhile, was not at all surprised to be summoned to the Chief Steward’s chamber for the attention that he had received all too infrequently over the past few months, whilst Alexander’s attentions had been trained on his slave-bird.

“Enter, boy!” Alexander’s masculine tones instructed as Will once again waited outside the bedchamber, dressed in his skimpy page outfit and tight-fitting hose.

As usual, Will’s heart was in his mouth as he contemplated what Alexander could possibly have in store for him this time.

However, it seemed that, mellowed by wine, Alexander was in a more conversational mood than usual.

“So, slutboy,” he drawled. “What did you think of the evening’s entertainment?”

As always, Alexander’s very presence made Will feel nervous. And this was a new development. He was not usually asked for his opinion on anything!

“Did it turn you on, eh? Get that pathetic little boycock twitching in your tights to see the humiliation of a great soldier – being reduced to a mere chicken?”

Will panicked trying to work out what he was supposed to say. Would it anger Alexander more if he told him he was turned on or that he wasn’t?

“Answer me, bitch. Or are you still more interested in that slutty little serving girl?”

“No, Sir,” Will stammered as he recalled Jane’s devastating revelation.

“Ah, so you have learned the truth about that little minx then. Don’t say you were surprised! As if a woman would have had any use for you. You’re good for one thing and one thing only. To be tied up and to have a cock stuck in one of your ends. A real man’s cock!”

As if on command, Will’s dick twitched in his tights at this verbal humiliation.

“I was right, boy, I see…”

“Now, come over here and get your waistcoat and pumps off. I want you naked apart from your tights…”

Will did as he was instructed. He wondered if he would ever get accustomed to that terrible, wonderful thrill of excitement as he was ordered to strip down to merely that most revealing and erotic item of clothing – his tight-fitting hose.

“Sit on the end of the bed…”

Will did so. And he sensed Alexander climbing onto the sheets behind him.

“Master Yorick has been hard at work for you, my boy. He’s been helping me with a little project. I’ve decided I want to see and feel my little slave bitch entirely covered in tights – from head to toe.”

Will felt an item of clothing slip over his head. He soon realised that the material was the same stretchy, clingy material as his tights. Alexander guided the page boy’s arms into the garment. It appeared to have long sleeves that ended in gloves. The older man rolled down the torso of what appeared to be some kind of leotard. Alexander lifted the boy’s bottom as he fastened the body around Will’s arsehole.

“Beautiful,” cooed Alexander. “And now the finishing touch…”

Will felt Alexander’s hands at his temples, as the Steward began to force a kind of hood onto his head. Will panicked slightly until he realised the material was again the same as that of his tights. The hose-hood slipped over his face but was light enough for him to be able to breathe through and (although his vision was restricted) he could just about make out shapes through the fabric.

“Mmm. Perfect. Stand, boy.”

Will did as he was instructed, and Alexander stepped back to appreciate his creation. That lithe body, the strong muscular thighs and that pert, perfect bum all entirely encased in tights from head to toe.

“Now you truly are my tights bitch, boy.”

Will’s cock was rock hard as ever. His senses were muffled slightly. Sounds and sights came to him differently through the clinging, blue material. And as Alexander’s manly hands began to roam over his body, the sheer sensuousness of the all-over coverage made his cock ache for release.

He felt himself being pushed back onto the bed, and once again felt the familiar sensation as his limbs were tugged into a spread-eagled position and fastened to the bedposts.

“My kinky little tights slave tied up and ready to be used…”

The heady aroma of Alexander’s potion filled the air as the bottle was forced under Will’s nostrils and he had no choice but to inhale through the tights-hood.

Then the bottle was gone and Will’s hips bucked as he felt Alexander’s face sink into his, his master’s tongue pushing against the tight material and into his mouth. Will responded. The hosiery formed an erotic barrier between the two of them, preventing their salivating tongues from meeting, as the effects of the potion drove Will crazy with desire and lust.

The material was damp as Alexander withdrew his tongue and replaced it with his impressive cock.

He sat astride Will’s chest, pounding his dick into his blue boy’s mouth.

“Take it,” he hissed. “Take my cock, slut boy.”

Will did as he was told as best he could. And then Alexander withdrew, leaving him gasping for air through his hood.

“Now I want to see you writhe. Struggle and writhe. Struggle, moan and writhe. My tied up bitch. My kidnapped hostage. My tights slave.”

Will did as he was told, straining against his bonds, thrashing and moaning and whimpering, the potion coursing through his body, knowing that the sight was only arousing his Master more and more. The material of the tights encased him completely and caused yet more exquisite arousal.

Will felt Alexander’s stockinged foot ranging over his tights-clad body, pressing against his tits, his cock, his balls, his thighs…

And then he heard the grunt of ecstatic release as Alexander came, and hot, thick cum spattered over Will’s hosed body.

Will waited as the cum started to cool and dry on his leotard and tights. Then, to his astonishment, he felt Alexander grab his cock and start to rub it through the silken material.

“Don’t get used to this, bitch. This is a special treat in honour of Lord Geoffrey’s birthday…”

Will began to moan in ecstasy as he felt his cock wanked through the gorgeous silky hose.

“Silence, bitch!” And Alexander clamped his manly palm over the boy’s nose and mouth. Will squirmed even more as the hand muffled his squeals and restricted his breathing. But the clamped hand served only to arouse him even more!

“I’m milking you, slut. Breeding my tights bitch…”

And then, try as he might to delay it, Will’s adolescent hormones betrayed him. He spurted – over and over and over – into the crotch of his hose. Alexander pumped away at his cock until he had milked it completely dry.

Will lay there, gasping post-ejaculation, astonished that Alexander had relaxed his own rules and allowed his page boy to come.

“There are going to be some changes around here, soon, boy,” Alexander warned the tights-clad figure lying prone and tied to the bed. “War is coming. And that means uncertainty for us all…”

The Chief Steward was not wrong. Mere days after the celebrations had taken place marking the occasion of Lord Geoffrey’s birthday, rumours began to circulate that the King was embarking on another foreign military campaign, and that any able-bodied men faced conscription into his army.

Sure enough, within days, Alexander had been summoned to Geoffrey’s rooms and given the news that Geoffrey, along with all his most able knights, were required to travel to Arabia to do battle with the King’s enemies there.

“It’s hopeless, of course, but the old fool is too stubborn to see it,” grumbled the Lord of the manor. “And in the mean time, good men must be sacrificed on the altar of his pride and ambition. Still, we must obey, my friend. And I fear the number of men I am required to supply means that some must come from your staff as well as those more accustomed to life on the battlefield.”

“I shall be honoured, my Lord, to fight alongside you” –

“No, no, my friend. Much as I would value it, your place is here. I need a man I can trust to protect the castle whilst I’m away. But I fear I must leave you with only a skeleton staff. All the strongest and bravest fighters must come with me.”

Will was safe. Everyone regarded him as a moronic peasant boy who would likely get himself killed within moments of arriving on a foreign shore. So there was no danger of him being conscripted. Besides, Will felt fairly sure Alexander intended to keep him very close at hand for the foreseeable future. But plenty of the other pages were required to attend some rudimentary battle training. And even Master Yorick – whose bulging muscles made him a prime target for the army – began to pack up his belongings and say his farewells.

By the end of the week, the parade of strong, handsome, virile men, with Lord Geoffrey at its head, was on its way. Tears were shed, embraces were made, and then they were gone. The castle’s chambers echoed – empty save for those deemed unworthy of military service.

Will found his day-to-day existence went on much as before. True, he had now inherited some of the duties of the other pages, but there were now far fewer residents in the castle to cater to. As for Alexander, well, he had been left in complete command. Not that Lord Geoffrey had ever seen fit to question his right-hand man before – but now the Chief Steward’s power truly was absolute.

It was a cold February morning. Will was fetching firewood to top up Mistress Olwen’s dwindling supply, when he heard an excited commotion arising from the courtyard.

“Well, boy,” snapped the old cook. “Go and see what is happening out there!”

Will hurried, all too eager to discover the cause of the disturbance. He ran outside and saw the large wooden gates of the castle swinging open. Like him, others had come to gawp at the visitors. And this is what they saw. It was a small procession, headed by a young village boy. He had been hastily recruited to carry a tall flag, with a golden crest emblazoned at its tip.

Behind the village lad rode two men that Will could only describe as giants. They were undoubtedly the tallest, broadest, biggest men that he had ever seen. Each of them must have been easily six foot six. One had masses of wiry black hair growing all over him: on his head, his face, and sprouting from his chest. The other man was equally dark, but where his companion was bearded and hairy, the second man was clean shaven, even down to his razored scalp. Both were dressed identically, wrapped up tight in long, furry, black robes that fell to their feet. They rode monstrous black horses, quite as big as the shire horses that Will’s neighbour Gyles kept back in the village farm.

The men in black each touched the hilts of their swords lightly, as if as a warning for anyone who dared approach. And they scowled evilly at the gawping servants.

As if the sight of these two ogres was not astonishing enough, the next rider in the little parade presented an even more extraordinary apparition.

It was a young man. Will guessed he was at most twenty-three or four. He was about five feet ten tall, and Will knew instantly that he was the most handsome man he had ever laid eyes on. His skin was a pure, flawless white, which contrasted with the golden waves of his shoulder length hair. His eyes were as blue as sapphires, and his nose was slim and straight. His lips red, full and slightly pouting, and his cheeks and bone structure were as fine and delicate as if they had been constructed in some heavenly forge.

His physique was easy to appreciate also, for unlike the monsters who preceded him, and in spite of the biting chill, the beautiful young man’s body was not engulfed in cloaks and furs. His shoulders were broad and his waist slim. His fine legs were clearly on display – muscular and shapely and encased in the finest, silken lavender hose. He wore leather riding boots that covered his calves, but his exquisite tights covered his thighs and then extended well beyond his flat stomach and over his chest. A silver embroidered “bolero” jacket covered the young man’s upper body and arms, but Will was all too aware that the stranger had abandoned warmth and comfort for the effect he knew his devastating attire would have on his audience. The only concession to the cold was a jaunty fur hat which perched on an angle atop his beautiful head.

The crowd fell silent as the newcomers entered the courtyard. Will could see from the young man’s proud expression that he was well used to being admired, indeed that he expected it from anyone he should meet.

The man reined in his pure white steed and called out in a clear voice: “Who is master here?”

“I have that honour – for the time being, your highness.”

Alexander had emerged from his office and stood at the top of the steps that led up to the entrance to the Great Hall.

“And who, pray, are you?”

“My name is Alexander Courcey. And I am the Chief Steward of de Montford Castle. Had we been forewarned of your arrival, we would have been able to prepare a proper welcome for you.”

“My journey here has been one of the utmost secrecy. Only my father and a few of my most trusted servants have known. My father did not dare risk my royal person by telling just – anyone.”

Alexander bowed low, but Will could see that the insult had found its mark.

“Please, then, your highness. Come this way. Our castle’s staff is rather depleted at the moment but I can assure you, we will do everything in our power to make your sojourn here a comfortable one.”

“See that you do, Courcey,” replied the young man. “My father would be most displeased if it were not.”

And with that, he swang athletically down from his steed, and followed by his hulking bodyguards, strode into the castle.

Alexander was struggling to maintain his composure.

Will suddenly realised Mistress Olwen was at his side.

“Who is it?” he hissed.

Olwen pulled a face. “That, lad, is Prince Felix: the only son and heir of our beloved King. And from what I hear of that young man, his arrival at our castle will mean only one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Trouble.”