“Orrin of Zigag! How many times have I told you to stop fucking the Royal Guards!”
Orrin froze with his face between the guard’s delicious glutes, regretfully stopping his degustation. He stretched his neck a little (his eyes a hairbreadth above the muscular ass) and scowled at his father. Yes, his King had told him not to fuck the Royal Guards. He had never expressed any prohibition about bending them over in a line and eating their holes one by one, though.
“Leave that guard’s behind alone and come here!”
The behind in question was the last of the line, and it had been Orrin’s plan to make each guard come on his way back to the first. Nevertheless, he saw a vein protruding on his father’s forehead. He couldn’t have the King having an apoplexy, then be forced to rule the kingdom before he was done having his fun. He was still too young to handle the serious matters of governing his people. That didn’t mean he didn’t know how; he just didn’t want to— yet.
With the back of his hand, Orrin wiped his mouth. As he emerged from his crouch, he affectionately spanked the round prize before him, yanking a growly yip from the guard.
Since neither Orrin nor the King had ordered them to move, the twelve Royal Guards remained in their bent state, along the lengthy banquet table in the dining hall. Orrin lovingly brushed his left hand over each exposed cheek as he walked toward his father. The poor men deserved at least a passing caress since their prince would not be able to make them spurt.
“Stop that!” yelled King Ouranio. “And you,” that was to the guards, “pull yourselves together! You look like a lineup of whores in a cheap brothel!”
“Please, my King, remember your blood pressure,” Orrin said conciliatorily.
“Orca sperm and narwhal shit! How dare you! You’re doing this! You are the one messing up my blood pressure! Why can you not be like your brother?”
Orrin’s brother Landra was the good one. Even if they were physically identical, their personalities were like day and night; something that puzzled everyone to no end because twins weren’t supposed to be so different.
Orrin was finally facing his father, King Ouranio, Rider of narwhals, Master of orcas, Light of his people, Wise as the stars— and now almost purple and ready to explode.
When facing danger you could either fight or flight. Orrin didn’t have those options; his only option was to fake submission till it seemed real. He knelt. “Forgive me, my King. I don’t deserve the title of Prince of Zigag.”
“You certainly not,” his father put a hand on Orrin’s head with a huff, “but you’re still my son, and I love you. I just wish I didn’t have to do this.”
The last sentence came out softly, and that was way more terrifying than the initial huff. Orrin didn’t want to ask. He pressed his lips together, mustering self-control he rarely used.
His father pushed Orrin’s face up, using a finger to lift his chin. They locked eyes. The purplish hue had disappeared. More like all the blood had drained from King Ouranio’s face in a heartbeat. “I am really sorry, son, but you leave me no choice. I need to do this for your own good.”
Uh-uh. He’s giving the crown to Landra.
Even if they had been born together, Orrin was the firstborn (three minutes were three minutes!). On second thought, would it really be that bad not becoming King? He wouldn’t have to deal with all the responsibilities heading his way.
Orrin was mentally readying himself for an inner victory dance, seeing how his duties as future King started to fade and a renewed life of debauchery was quickly becoming so real he could almost taste it.
His father shook his head. “Sweet Erin! You’re already finding a silver lining to your punishment and you don’t even know what it is yet.” He ran the hand he had used to lift Orrin’s chin down his face. “Apheilon, give me patience with this child.”
Orrin tried to look contrite, but who was he kidding? If he didn’t have to be King, he was going to have tons of irrevocable fun. Landra would be the perfect, dutiful King. Yes. His twin was amazing; he would make their father and Zigag proud.
“You’re not fooling me. I know you too well,” King Ouranio summarized. “Undo all those hedonistic plans because I am sending you to Doriar to marry King Joran.”
“What did you say?” Orrin’s father asked with a low growl.
“I said, ‘gods,’ my King,” Orrin answered, mentally smacking his forehead.
Shaking his head again, his father said, “Nope. I did not sound like that.”
“Can I ask a question, father?” It was better to ask his father than his King.
An arched eyebrow let Orrin know the subterfuge had been detected. “Go ahead.”
“Why marry me off, and why Joran?”
“Those are two questions.”
“Still, they have the same answer. King Joran asked for Landra’s hand, but since you are incapable of even respect the men entrusted to guard you because in your head everything is a mere toy at your disposal, I am giving your hand to the King of Doriar and my kingdom to your brother.”
“Am I supposed to pretend to be Landra?” That was beyond punishment; that was adding insult to injury.
“Of course not. He asked for Landra because you were the heir apparent. It’s the same body. I don’t think he is going to mind.”
“So, am I just a piece of meat?”
Uncharacteristically, King Ouranio snorted. “That’s so rich coming from you, who just a moment ago had twelve very highly trained men spread like meat at the market.”
It was Orrin turn to shake his head. “I honestly don’t see the point of such an extreme punishment.”
“Well, I do.” The King of Zigag crossed his arms. “If you cannot obey your own King, who happens to be your father, maybe you will obey a different King who happens to be your husband.”
So, at the end, Orrin was still going to be some sort of King any-fucking-way.
Four days later...
“You’ll be fine. Come on. You’re the reason why so many soldiers want to become Royal Guards.” Landra patted Orrin’s hand.
“If you’re trying to cheer me up, that is not helping. You need to shut up,” Orrin admonished his twin halfheartedly.
“What I’m saying is that you’re going to have King Joran wrapped around your finger in no time.”
“Not seeing how that helps. I love my freedom. Be able to do whatever and whoever I please. Do you think the mighty King of Doriar is going to let me fuck his guards?”
The mid-morning sun shone happily, making Landra’s hair seem a golden veil. It was a silly thing to think since it was the same as thinking his hair looked like a veil. Although in his case, it could be a mourning veil, dark and limp. He couldn’t even appreciate the beauty of this inner garden where they had shared so many wonderful moments. Spring had just started, and everything seemed eager to bloom and unleash its fragrance. But he couldn’t even enjoy the fountain’s song; to Orrin, it sounded like rainwater screaming down a gutter.
“Every answer is just waiting for its question to appear,” Landra offered, suspiciously channeling one of their old tutors.
Orrin narrowed his eyes. “You are so stupid.” He hugged his brother. “Still love you, though.”
Landra stood up. “Let’s get you on that ship. I’ll see you in a month for the wedding. See this as a new adventure. You’re the one able to find the silver lining even in the darkest situation.” He tilted his head, his agate eyes sparkling with sudden mischief. “If you think about it, becoming the consort of such a handsome King is a very bright situation.”
“Now you’re just rubbing in the fact that he is a total dreamboat, and I am being whiny for no logical reason,” Orrin grumbled as he moved to his feet too.
“I should be mad,” Landra elbowed Orrin, “you robbed me the opportunity to sleep with that hunky King every night for the rest of my life.”
Orrin grabbed Landra by the shoulders and shook him. “You’re getting a kingdom, you narwhal hole!”
It seemed like history always found a way to repeat itself in their family. Their father had also been the second son, and for some still not clear absurdity his brother, the crowned prince, had been married off to one of the princes of Busar.
Landra grinned triumphantly. “And that’s exactly why I am not mad.”
Orrin released his twin and about-faced. He barked over his shoulder, “Aren’t you getting me on a ship toward my doom?”
“Oh, stop being a wuss and man up. You’re also getting a damn kingdom!” Landra huffed and spanked Orrin’s behind. “You’ll be fine.”
They left the garden and walked to the palace entrance. Each one had an open chariot with its white horse waiting to take them through the city streets in a great procession to give their prince a proper send off to his new home. Their mother and father were already at the port aboard Zigag’s flagship the Treptikó to kiss him goodbye— certainly eager to be done with him.
An escort of the Royal Guards (many of whom Orrin knew in very intimate detail) surrounded them quickly in their dark horses, starting Orrin’s last farewell as Prince of Zigag.