Rise: A Gay Fairy Tale (3 page)

Although he told himself to keep going, Rion paused and traced the carving in the door with his fingertip. The handle was smooth under his palm, and the door swung inward without so much as a creak. The curtains on the huge four-poster bed had been drawn since the morning he’d discovered his mother’s body there.

She’d weighed so little at the end that she’d already seemed like ashes ready to be scattered on the wind. But it had been peaceful, at least. The other memories assailed him, and he swallowed hard. Even as his father lay dying, the old man’s grip had been iron on Rion’s wrist. Rion never knew if it was the shock of all but one of his children abandoning the family’s duty that did it, but their father’s heart had sputtered to a stop the very day that Rion’s last sibling sent word that he would not be returning from across the sea.

“My son.” His blunt nails dug into Rion’s skin. “You must carry on the legacy. Do not fail your mother or your forbearers as your brothers and sisters have. Such selfishness, it breaks my heart. In my day we honored our parents instead of following our own whims and desires.”

Perched on the side of the great bed, Rion shifted, his gaze dropping away. His own desires were perverse by any rendering. How could he condemn his siblings? “But Father, you left home. When Mother sought a mate from across the sea, you were the one she chose, and you returned here with her. Surely your parents mourned your loss?”

His father spat. “They cared not. I was nothing more than chattel to them. But we raised you all with love and honor. Yet one by one you abandoned us and your heritage. It falls to you now, Rion. My brave boy.”

“Father, I…” Tears pricked Rion’s eyes. “I love you and Mother with all my heart. But…”

His father’s gaze was unfocused. “You must go and find a wife while your mother still lives. Give her a bounty of grandchildren. And above all, protect the treasure at all costs. It is your sacred duty. Keep the Outsiders away. Be on guard always.”

All his life he’d heard tales of the dreaded Outsiders who lived in the valley below. “But the boy who climbed the stalk last summer…he seemed to be merely an ordinary man. He seemed to be…like us.”

His father’s grip on him tightened. “No! Do not be fooled, my son. The Outsiders are evil. They carry disease and want to steal what has been commended to our protection. It is the way it has always been, and ever shall be.”

Rion could only nod. His parents of course knew best. They’d traveled beyond the castle, while Rion had never felt anything but its worn stone beneath his feet. What did he know of the world?

“I shall do my duty to our family, Father. I pledge my word.”

That young man who’d conquered the stalk was the first Outsider Rion had ever laid eyes on, and to Rion’s surprise he wasn’t hideously scarred or bearing horns. From where Rion had hid, watching as his brother frightened the boy away, the Outsider had in fact appeared handsome, like the knights and squires in books. Rion’s loins had stirred shamefully, and he’d been glad of the shadows hiding him.

The Outsider been so terrified by the clamor and visage of the giant that he’d leapt back and tumbled right out of the castle. His scream as he plummeted haunted Rion’s dreams still.

Closing the door to his parents’ room behind him with a thud that echoed dully, Rion continued down the passageway toward the simple chamber that had been his since birth.

The curtains on his four-poster bed were permanently drawn back. Several wooden chests nearby held Rion’s clothing. Although he did possess some finery of velvet and silk tucked safely away, most of his garments were simple trousers, tunics and woolen sweaters for the long winters. Even now in spring, he shivered as he pulled on his nightshirt and climbed beneath the icy sheets. Without a second thought, he reached down for his cock.

As a young man—still a boy, really—he’d hidden away behind his bed curtains, fantasizing about the brave knights captured in the drawings in some of his books. The fair maidens had never sparked his imagination or his desire. While his older brothers had longed to leave the castle and find pretty girls in frilly dresses, Rion had secreted himself away in the castle’s nooks and crannies so he could listen to his sisters tell tales of the strong, brave men they hoped to marry.

Jerking himself harshly, Rion stared at the arch of the ceiling high above. He’d long ago stopped such pointless fantasies. He knew his duty—next winter he would find a wife, bring her back to the castle, and carry on the family line. In twenty-eight years he’d only ever known the touch of his own hand, so perhaps having a wife would not be so bad.

Even if she was not a man with hard muscles and firm, hairy flesh, she would have a warm body and mouth. That was something. Perhaps fortune would smile on him a little and he would find a woman of good spirits and intelligence. A woman who would be a friend. He’d learned to school his physical yearnings; there were more important things to consider.

Desire played no part in the rough stroking of his cock. He brought his body to release to warm himself and bring on slumber. He arched up his hips, grunting as the tension built, his body tightening like an archer’s bow drawn back. For a moment as he let go, spending over his hand, pleasure flickered through him, and he closed his eyes, lips parted.

Then it was gone. He wiped himself clean before pulling the blankets up to his chin for another long night.

Chapter Two

As night fell, Jack finally hauled himself up from the ground. He took the long way back home, avoiding the village. The cottage was dark as he approached. Inside, every trace of his mother had vanished. But much more painful was the empty yard outside. Keeping his eyes down, Jack drew up some water from the well.

Inside, he heated one bucket after the other on the stove. When the small metal tub was almost full, he sank into it, his limbs tucked in. The lye soap was harsh on his pale, freckled skin, but he scrubbed mercilessly until he wasn’t sure if the blood in the water was Inga’s or his own.

Naked, he dumped the filthy water outside and hurried back in. Although his mother’s empty bed was now his, he retreated to his pallet in the corner. At least it was familiar and unchanged.

He willed himself to sleep and wake to find this day had been only a terrible dream. Yet his eyes remained open. His body was rigid from head to toe, tension clenching his jaw. When most men his age had children and a wife at his side, Jack had no one.

Not even Inga now
.

He shuddered as he thought of her being led to the abattoir. Had she been frightened? Had she wondered where he’d been? Had she felt a stab of betrayal as the axe fell, or only agony?

He hadn’t even been able to say goodbye.

Perhaps it was foolish to mourn a cow, but mourn he did, although he’d spent all his tears in the forest that afternoon. And now he was alone and in debt, with no one to even speak with, let alone warm his bed. Granted, he had no want of a wife. A husband, yes, but men did not marry each other, and as far as the decent people of the kingdom knew, no man would ever think of another as anything but a friend or brother.

But Jack was not decent.

By his very nature, he was a wicked being. Yet he knew all too well that he was not the only one who lusted for the taut, hard flesh of another man. Memories ricocheted through Jack’s mind and he tensed with the familiar sensations of anger and hurt, but most of all the surge of shameful desire.

Of all the memories of Adair, it was the first forbidden night years ago that always roared back in vivid color.

“Hey, you!”

Head down, Jack hurried on through the forest, hoping whoever it was would go away and let him get home in peace. But footsteps behind him grew louder, and a few moments later a strong hand on his arm jerked him around.

“Are you deaf? I called you.” Adair of the House of Glynn glowered at him. Tall and golden-haired, he was already handsome and manly in a way that made Jack’s stomach flip-flop.

Jack’s heart pounded with fear and confused excitement. “M-me?” he stuttered. What in heavens could Adair want?

“Do you see anyone else?”

They were indeed alone among the oak and juniper trees. Jack shook his head and tugged down his cap.

Adair released Jack’s arm and regarded him imperiously. “I’ve lost my dog. Help me find her.” He strode off the path between the trees. He didn’t look back.

Jack scrambled to catch up. Although they were the same age, Jack was still skinny, and felt awkward in his skin as his body changed and he sprouted up. He’d grown coarse hair in his nether regions and across his chest, and his cock got hard at the drop of a hat. He wished his father was still there so Jack could ask him what was normal. But Jack knew that, like his hair, his desires could not possibly be natural.

He followed Adair deeper and deeper into the forest. Adair didn’t call for his dog, and when Jack would have asked for the creature’s name, Adair came to a stop in the shadows amid a stand of thick trees with heavy leaves making a canopy above. It was as if twilight had suddenly come upon them when it was yet hours away.

Turning, Adair’s lips curled up into a smile that sent gooseflesh skimming up Jack’s arms. “I see the way you look at me.”

Jack’s throat was bone dry. “I…pardon?”

“You think you hide so well, but I see.” His hands moved to the ornate belt holding his breeches. It was the head of an eagle with a ruby eye, and he was never without it. With deliberate movements, he bared his cock, which seemed to grow before Jack’s wide eyes.

Jack’s mind raced. Was it a prank? Were the other boys waiting in the dark recesses of the forest to expose and humiliate him? He heard not a sound but blood rushing in his ears and the thumping of his own heart like the drums in the village announcing the harvest festival. He took a tentative step.

Stroking himself, Adair’s smile grew. “Come on. Take what you want.”

With a deep breath, Jack closed the distance between them, his eyes locked on Adair’s straining flesh. He felt Adair’s hand on his shoulder, and then he was shoved to his knees. Without another thought, Jack opened his mouth and took Adair between his lips.

His own cock grew hard as a rock as he sucked and breathed in Adair’s musky scent. It was as if a thorn, which had dug into his flesh, had suddenly become part of him, finding its rightful place deep beneath his skin. He feasted on Adair’s thick shaft, and swallowed every drop of salty seed that burst into his mouth as Adair grunted loudly.

Jack licked Adair clean, nuzzling his bollocks and pressing kisses to his inner thighs. He wanted to beg Adair to touch him in the same way, but knew he wasn’t worthy. That Adair hadn’t thrust him away was a miracle, and Jack continued fondling him. Soon Adair’s cock lengthened once more. Without warning, he hauled Jack to his feet, his fist gripping the front of Jack’s tunic. “Remove your clothes,” he growled.

As fast as he could, Jack stripped. He was so hard he struggled with his breeches before kicking them free. Adair took Jack’s shoulders and spun him around before pushing him back down to the dirt and leaves. Jack thought he might spend even before being touched. His body buzzed, and sweat dampened his brow. He reached for his cap as Adair mounted him.

“No. Keep it on.”

It had been years now since he’d last felt Adair’s touch, and although he hated the man now, he couldn’t resist the urge to close his eyes and remember the sensation of Adair’s perfect body under his fingers, and the taste of him on his tongue. He reached for his cock to give himself the only kind of release he could. It was shameful, how even now at times he missed it. He’d been Adair’s willing whore, going back for more time and time again. Jack was disgusting, but he couldn’t help himself.

Now that he was alone in the cottage, he didn’t need to keep his lips sealed, and he moaned low in his throat. As he pumped his growing flesh, he teased and twisted his nipples with his other hand. Sparks of pleasure skittered across his skin, and he arched his hips up, his fist tight around his cock.

Adair had never permitted Jack to kiss him on the mouth, but Jack had spent many nights on his knees with Adair’s hard cock down his throat, always wearing his cap even when he was naked otherwise. He remembered the hot flesh on his tongue, stretching his lips, and moaned again. He slid two fingers into his mouth and sucked.

When they were wet with saliva, he spread his legs wider and planted his feet on the pallet, knees dropping open. Reaching down, he pushed one finger inside himself. He gasped, stroking his cock faster, his thumb brushing over the leaking head. Another finger followed, and Jack rammed them into his hole.

He remembered the throb of Adair’s big cock inside him—how he’d felt he was being split in two, but didn’t care if it was the death of him. He’d taken everything Adair gave him gratefully, climbing up the castle wall to Adair’s chamber and getting on his hands and knees for him every night he could.

Bending his fingers, Jack searched for the nub that would send him over the edge. His limbs trembled as he rubbed against it and pumped his cock. His bollocks seized up and exploded, his seed spraying his chest as the pleasure overtook him. He rode it out, arse clenching around his fingers, while his other hand milked his cock of every last drop.

After the tremors subsided, Jack wiped his hands and chest with a rag, scrubbing at his chest hair. He tossed the rag aside and closed his eyes, ready to escape to a few hours of nothingness. Although he’d only pleasured himself rarely and silently in the dead of night due to his mother’s presence beyond the thin curtain, it usually sent him adrift quickly.