“Aryn, pass me the salt, would you?”

He snapped out of his thoughts as his brother’s voice rang in his ears from across the large table. Reaching his hand out, Aryn grasped the saltshaker and handed it to the person next to him to be passed down, avoiding eye contact.

“Here you go, Your Highness,” Oliver said as he relinquished the small glass to Philip with a curt smile.

He knew this day had been coming for several weeks now, and yet it still hadn’t helped prepare him in the slightest. He took a quick moment to glance around the table at the various occupants: a kind-looking older woman sat in front of him (thank God), her husband next to her, Father at the head of the table to his left, Lady Dahlia and his brother sharing the other head of the table, and… Oliver to his right. At least the man had enough sense not to sit where it would have been easy to make eye contact.

“So, Prince Aryn,” the woman started.

“Just Aryn is fine, my lady.”

He felt his father staring daggers at him from across the table.

“So, Aryn, we’ve gotten to know all about your brother. Tell us about yourself,” she insisted sweetly.

His palms instantly broke out into a sweat.

“W-Well, I… I enjoy music, horse riding, and a good book by the fire from time to time, if that’s what you’re asking,” he elaborated briefly.

“Don’t let him fool you, Mother. Prince Aryn here is actually quite the dancer,” Oliver butted in as he sliced off a piece of lamb.

Aryn kicked his foot under the table.

“Really? That’s wonderful. Oh, you absolutely must share a dance with Dahlia at the wedding then!”

“I-I don’t think that’s necessary–” he interjected a bit too quickly.

“My son would be honored to dance with our future queen-to-be, isn’t that right, Aryn?” Aleksander corrected coolly. Only the prince could detect the looming threat within his voice.

He forced a small smile as he blinked away the old expression on his face, putting on the mask of a prince. “Yes, of course. Although I apologize in advance for stepping on your toes, my lady. I saw you at my brother's ball, and I can assure you that you are a far better dancer than myself,” he jested, forcing life into his voice.

Everyone chuckled and smiled, going back to their meals and conversation. Dinner finally ended, and with curt goodbyes to those present, Aryn quickly made for his chambers, packing a satchel with a change of clothes before looking at himself in the mirror. He nervously picked at his hair, reshaping it over and over. Sighing with frustration at a strand that wouldn’t stay, he instead dabbed on a bit of scented oil beneath his chin and on his wrists before opening his bedroom door once more to leave.

“Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed, nearly dropping his bag as Oliver had appeared in his doorway.

The taller man snickered quietly as Aryn readjusted himself with an exasperated sigh.

“You do know you could knock,” he stated pointedly, shrugging the satchel back onto his shoulder.

“To be fair, I was about to. You were just too quick.”

“Well I don’t intend to spend more of my night performing for my father, so if you’ll excuse me–” he started as he attempted to shoulder past Oliver.

The man placed his hand on the doorframe with a smirk. “And where are you off to so late?”

Aryn glanced up and down the hallway before snatching the nobleman’s arm and yanking him into the room, closing the door.

“I told Percy.”

Oliver’s face lit up. “And I’m assuming it went well, judging by the extra pair of undergarments sticking out of your bag.”

He quickly glanced down to spot the fabric peeking out of the satchel and clumsily tucked it in all the way, his face flushing.

“Have you two?..”

“Kind of,” he answered shyly, fidgeting with the sleeve of his shirt. Oliver raised an eyebrow. “We’re taking things slow, somewhat. You know, taking the time to enjoy each other.”

“From how timid you are about it it seems you’ve been enjoying him quite thoroughly–”

“Oliver,” he warned, glaring at the nobleman.

He threw his hands up in defeat, smirking. “My apologies, you know I like giving you a hard time. I must meet this Percy while I’m in town.”

“You sure that wouldn’t be… awkward?” he asked hesitantly, holding his own arm.

“Not if we don’t make it awkward. You two weren’t together when we… had our fun. Besides, he should be thanking me for helping you grow some balls and telling him how you feel.”

Aryn smiled defeatedly at the nobleman. He wasn’t expecting their relationship to become so… friendly after their brief time together. When he first saw Oliver return to the castle, he felt as if he would be ill. Some irrational part of his brain had convinced himself that the nobleman hated him now, or that things would be unbearably uncomfortable. But thankfully Oliver had been in this situation a handful of times before, and Aryn quickly realized, to his relief, that he had meant it when he said there were no strings attached.

“I’m sure we can arrange that before you leave. We have a whole week after all. But tonight is not a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow. If anyone asks where I am, you don’t know.”

Oliver nodded dutifully and clasped him on the shoulder. “Of course, Your Highness,” he teased with a playful smile.

With that, he strode out of his chambers and rushed down the hall, his boots clicking softly and echoing in the large passageway. Just as he reached the main doors to the castle, a cold voice called out.

“Aryn. Where are you off to so late? We have guests.”

He swallowed nervously and turned to face his father. “I know. I offered to retrieve something for Oliver from the city. I won’t be gone long.”

“Well don’t be too long. Tomorrow is the hunt, and we leave early in the morning. Have you found company to bring with you? The more manpower the better for hunting boars. Philip is bringing many of his friends from court. I expect you to at least bring someone.”

He cringed subtly. The hunt… he had forgotten. What a barbaric ritual.

“Uhm… actually, there is a friend who might be interested. I’ll discuss it with him while I’m out.”

Aleksander narrowed his eyes at his son, but thankfully he decided to leave it at that. “Do not be late.”

And with that, the King turned and strode towards his chambers down the opposite hallway. Aryn let out the breath he had been holding and quickly left the castle.

His feet moved swiftly with excitement as he made his way into the middle circle of the city, towards the Lancaster’s smithy. The world was dark save for the stars in the sky and the occasional tavern that was aglow with rowdy celebration. A dim, warm light radiated from the window in the house directly behind the blacksmith shop, and Aryn nearly began to run as he closed the distance.

He rapped his knuckles softly on the door and waited. A short moment went by before the door opened with a slight squeak of the hinges and Percy stood before him, the soft glow of a fireplace illuminating him from behind. He felt his heart leap and a heat rise on his fair-colored cheeks as he took in the young man.

The blacksmith was dressed in a relaxed manner, a simple forest green wool sweater that brought out his eyes and a pair of plain brown breeches. Aryn very much enjoyed the way Percy dressed; the simplicity was a breath of fresh air compared to the extravagant, stuffy outfits that were standard of noble descent. A grin began to grow on the dark-haired man’s face as he stepped back, inviting him in. He quickly stepped inside and closed the door behind him, turning to look up at the face he constantly saw in his dreams.

“Hi,” he breathed, his cheeks and nose rosy from the cold.

“Hi,” Percy murmured back, reaching his hands up to unclasp Aryn’s cloak.

The dense fabric thumped to the ground as the blacksmith slid his arm around his waist, the other hand grasping his cheek, before their lips met. There was no urgency in the kiss, and they both lingered in it as Aryn placed a hand to his chest, back arching slightly as he shifted his weight.

About six weeks had passed since that fateful night in the tavern, and the two had been limited to late night visits at the Dragon’s Nest, when the rest of the world was sleeping. But this week, Percy’s family was away on business, traveling to neighboring towns to sell their wares to soldiers and townsguards. Naturally, Percy had to stay behind to run the forge. It was the perfect opportunity to get out of that tavern room.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Strong hands tangled in his ashen hair as their kiss deepened. He felt Percy’s fingers spread across his cheek and blushed even harder when teeth gently pulled at his bottom lip. The blacksmith placed an intimate kiss at the corner of his mouth, sliding the hand on his back beneath his shirt. He shivered slightly at the warmth on his chilled skin, and another tingling sensation traversed his spine as Percy’s lips moved to his jaw.

Truth be told, he was still adjusting to everything. It was nearly overwhelming at times with how Percy treated him physically, in a good way. Over the past several weeks it had become clear that the young man absolutely adored and worshiped him, treating the prince’s body like a priceless piece of art. And even though they shared the same interests of attraction, they were still quite different from each other.

Aryn had quickly discovered that Percy was much more comfortable being physical than he himself was; it seemed to come far more naturally to him. But the physicality was never purely sexual. There was always a major aspect of intimacy, and a very strong sense of adoration. Sure, their introductory affections were usually needy and hurried and passionate, what with the kissing and all that. But when things became more serious, more vulnerable, Percy had a habit of taking everything almost painstakingly slow, like he had to commit every tiny moment to memory. Those were the moments Aryn enjoyed tremendously.

Lips brushed against his neck as the final kiss lingered before Percy pulled away, slowly sliding his hands from him. “I got you something.”

“Me? Percy you shouldn’t–”

“But I should,” he interjected with a sly smirk before heading over to the worn-down wooden table by the fireplace.

He watched as Percy picked up a plain piece of cloth, clearly wrapped around something he couldn’t discern.

“Close your eyes.”

He scoffed playfully and did as he was told, unable to resist the smile that crept onto his face as he held his hands out. Something cold hit his palm, and he opened his eyes to a beautifully made clasp. The metal was reinforced silver, shaped delicately into a leaf-like pattern and studded with dark blue gemstones. He looked up at the blacksmith in disbelief.

“Percy this is completely unnecessary,” he scolded, running his fingers over the fine piece of metalwork. “You better not have spent a lot of coin on this…”

“I pushed out a couple of special orders this week as a barter. I knew you would skin my hide if I shelled out for it,” he explained cheekily, the grin on his tanned face widening.

A sharp sigh escaped his lips as he felt a subtle tightness in his throat. “I love it… I’ll have to wear it tomorrow to that godforsaken hunt.”

“A hunt?” Percy raised his eyebrows curiously, brushing a stray piece of ash blonde hair from his forehead. “You don’t hunt.”

“Trust me, I know. My father is forcing me to come with the wedding party… Which reminds me,” he sheepishly took the man’s calloused hand in his. “I would like you to join me.”

Percy’s emerald eyes widened. “M-Me? Aryn, I’m flattered but… I’m baseborn. There’s no way in Hell I would be able to fit in, let alone be worthy of hunting with the goddamn King–”

He quickly set the clasp on the table in order to hold the blacksmith’s increasingly concerned face. “The King is my father, who gave me no specific instruction on whom to bring, mind you. Besides, you’re far more charming than you think.”

A conflicted sigh escaped the young man’s lips. “I don’t even have anything nice enough to wear.”

“Well lucky for you, we aren’t going to a ball, now are we? I’m sure you have some well-tailored winter clothes. No one is going to be wearing their best anyway; it’s colder than Hell frozen over and they'll all get covered in dirt and blood.”

“Aryn–”

He silenced him by placing his lips against his, their eyes locking before Percy pursued a follow-up kiss. A shy smile spread across the prince’s face.

“It’ll be fine. I promise. We’ll just hang out at the back of the party and get drunk while everyone else actively endangers their lives for a stupid pig. Please come, for me?”

“Alright,” Percy conceded softly, the concern on his face beginning to melt away as he planted a kiss to Aryn’s palm. “Just don’t blame me if I do something stupid.”

“That’ll just make it more interesting,” he teased playfully, running his hand down to the young man’s shoulder.

His fingers toyed with the collar of his sweater, tracing them along the top of his collarbone. He glanced upward to meet the man’s emerald eyes, those that had apparently already been intently staring at him. Color rose on his fair cheeks before Percy leaned forward and around to his ear.

“You’re becoming quite a devious little thing, you know that?” he murmured lowly, slinking his arm around his small waist.

“And whose fault is that?” he goaded, tilting his head away slightly.

A soft breath escaped his lips as Percy gently bit his earlobe.

“Are you accusing me?” he teased, nipping at the prince’s neck.

“Well I don’t see anyone else in this room touching me in ways he shouldn’t,” he purred quietly, letting his hand slide underneath Percy’s sweater up to his chest.

“In what ways? Like this?”

A firm hand suddenly gripped his backside, causing his breath to catch. The blacksmith’s other hand came to rest around his throat, and he couldn’t help the tightness that was quickly forming low in his stomach. But unexpectedly, an image quickly flashed in his mind: his father’s hand, wrapped around his throat, slamming him against a wall.

He inhaled sharply and abruptly took a small step back, raising a hand to his neck where Percy’s had been. The man’s emerald eyes shone with immediate concern in the low firelight.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, gingerly reaching up and taking Aryn’s hand in his. “Was that too much? I’m sorry… I-I got carried away–”

“N-No, you didn’t, really. I liked it I just…” he struggled to find the right words as his blue eyes scanned the floor.

“Was it just a little unexpected?” Percy surmised softly.

He glanced up again with furrowed brows, nodding. “I did like it, though.”

The blacksmith pressed his lips together thoughtfully before placing Aryn’s hand gently back to where it had been on his neck, his larger hand resting on top of it as he closed the gap between their bodies. “What about it did you like?”

“It made me feel… I don’t know how to explain it. It sounds strange,” he murmured uncertainly, a shy, breathy chuckle escaping his lips.

Another kiss was placed on his jaw. “Try me.”

He found himself anxiously fidgeting with the sleeve of Percy’s shirt, his eyes darting around the man’s face. “You’ve done a few things recently that, well… I guess I like it when you’re… assertive?”

A loose smile began to form on Percy’s lips as he brushed his thumb over the back of his hand, still resting on his neck.

“I see. And what have I done that you liked?” he asked gently, his tone becoming slightly more sensual as the mood began to shift again.

“Well, I do enjoy the biting…” he started shyly.

The fine hairs rose on his neck as Percy nipped at his ear, tugging on it before brushing his lips over it.

“What else?” he whispered, his muscular arm wrapping around his waist again.

“I like it when you pick me up, and put me against the wall…”

Strong hands gripped the back of his thighs as he was deftly hoisted into the air. He instinctively wrapped his arms and legs around Percy before his back met the wall, and shortly afterwards hungry lips went to work beneath his jaw. A small noise escaped his mouth as he tangled his hands into the nest of curly brown hair he could never get enough of.

Percy dragged his lips along his skin to his, sucking and biting on the bottom one in between their tongues dancing. Quickly his skin began to grow hot, and he balled the hem of Percy’s sweater in his hands. Suddenly his feet were touching the ground as the article of clothing came flying off, and his own shirt followed immediately after. He was pressed back up against the wall as Percy gripped his chin with one hand and his behind with another, their lips colliding. A primal desire began to well up inside him, and all he could think of was more, more, more...

“The bed,” he whispered breathlessly.

Percy hoisted him up onto his hips with ease and carried him through another door, as if he was a ragdoll, before firmly placing him down onto the featherbed, situating himself between his legs. His strong, calloused hands worked their way up his sides as Percy trailed his lips from his stomach to his chest before finally meeting his once more. His loins began to ache, and his breeches felt incredibly too tight.

As if reading his mind, Percy reached a hand down to start loosening the laces of his pants. The mere touch through the thick fabric was enough to rend a moan from deep within his throat. He could feel Percy’s muscles tighten at the noise, could feel his fingers working faster.

Finally the laces had loosened enough, and he found himself completely undone as Percy firmly grasped him. His breath shuddered as he pushed his hips into his hand, tangling his fingers in that mop of brown hair. But as soon as he had started, Percy withdrew his hand and slid it up his body, coming to rest at the root of his neck.

“I want you to do it,” he murmured lowly, their lips brushing. “I want you to touch yourself for me.”

A ragged breath escaped his mouth as a deep, pulsing ache shot through him. He lifted his eyes to meet blue with emerald as he slowly slid his own hand downward. They had never done something like this, and strangely he found it felt significantly more vulnerable. He supposed it was because he had never shared that side of himself with Percy before, that type of self-intimacy that came with such an act. Perhaps that’s exactly why he craved for Aryn to do it.

Slowly, he began to work. His heart pounded within his chest as fingers tangled in his feathery hair, and he gasped softly as suddenly his head was pulled back. His neck left vulnerable, teeth met the skin of his throat, eliciting a small noise from his mouth. A heat quickly grew on his face; there was always something about the way that Percy touched him once things advanced to… well, this. There was a dominance to it that excited him in a strange way, as if he relished in the thought that he wasn’t in control.

The first few times he hadn’t understood exactly why it was so enticing to him; he absolutely hated not being in control. He despised all those moments when his father had to only look at him to render his own will obsolete. He despised when his brother ordained that his priorities were more important, and thus turned him into no more than a captive parrot to squawk forced, rehearsed praises and agreement. He despised when he could do nothing while his mother wasted away on her sickbed…

Constantly these thoughts had run through his mind, and constantly Percy had been patient with him. But then one night it clicked. He didn’t enjoy not having control. No, he revelled in being able to let go. In being able to love and be loved the way he wanted, and always feeling safe, always having control in the end.

“You’re thinking…”

A low, alluring voice pulled him back to reality as he realized his hand had halted. Percy had made his way down to his hips and been gently toying with them, a soft red mark slowly growing on his skin. But now, deep emerald eyes glanced up at him, reading the look on his face like a wide-open book.

He couldn’t help the shy smile that made its way onto his lips as he let out a soft sigh.

“Sorry,” he breathed sheepishly, running a hand through thick brown curls.

Percy placed a soft kiss on the mark. “There’s no need to be sorry. What is it?”

“I was just thinking…” he paused, biting his lip. “That you haven’t drawn me yet.”

The blacksmith raised his eyebrows as a curious smirk formed on his tan face. “You want me to draw you?”

“Well I figured you did but were just too shy to ask, so you’re welcome,” he retorted playfully, twisting one of the curls in his fingers.

Percy chuckled softly, his smirk growing into a smile before he slid off the bed. The muscles of his legs moved tightly beneath his breeches as he strode over to a small desk and pulled the new sketchbook out of its drawer. Only purchased a couple of months ago, it was already beginning to show some wear and tear, the leather starting to dull in the places it was held the most. The blacksmith dragged a creaky wooden chair across the room and faced the back of it towards Aryn as he swiftly plopped down.

“How would you like me to draw you, Your Highness?” he prompted teasingly.

He bit his lip in thought as his blue eyes quickly glanced around the room, landing on a book on the nightstand. He snatched it and opened it up, beginning to peruse the pages. Ashen locks fell slightly in front of his face, framing it, as he sat cross-legged on the bed. With no response of approval, he finally looked up from the tome to catch Percy resisting a grin.

“What? I figured it’d be pretty awkward if I just stared at you the whole time,” he mused.

“No, I love it. It’s perfectly… you,” Percy explained softly, his emerald eyes flickering with adoration.

And so he began to draw.