Thursday, December 27, 2018

THROWBACK THURSDAY FANFIC

The first M/M Romance I ever read was Slave Boy by Evangeline Anderson. Years later (in 2011), I wrote this fanfic, imagining them ten years after their adventures in the book.
P.S. At the time, I contacted Evangeline for her blessing, and she told me it felt like full circle since her beginnings as a writer had been doing fanfiction.


MASTER HAVEN & MASTER WREN

“Good morning.”

His former master (and love of his life since the first moment their eyes met) woke him up as he had for the past ten years whenever they were not on a mission, kissing the H on his pelvis, outcome of their experience with the Tiberions and exactly what prompted their confession of eternal love.

“Good morning to you too, love.” Wren caressed the lock of white hair, grown on Haven’s hairline amid otherwise blue-black short tresses. “Did you rest well?”

“The only time I don’t rest well is when I’m not in your arms.” Haven smiled, and that unrelenting fire between them surfaced easily.

“We have a couple of standard hours before we depart for Rigel Six,” Wren murmured with his eyes boring into Haven’s deepest blue.

“Should we call this assignment going full circle before starting a new chapter?”

“You know dealing with Dungbar will not be a problem for me,” Wren said firmly.

The bastard had enslaved Wren until his twelfth name day when Haven discovered him in a dirty alley. Now, eons later, after slavery had been abolished on the Rigelian System thanks to the Light Bringers’ lobby, Dungbar still kept a slave ring while dangerously armed on the underbelly of Rigel Six. Not even the military forces of the system have been able to overpower it.

Mistress Tegbreth (who had not been their fan from the get-go) had bullied the Council of Wisdom to send them on this mission, perhaps thinking it would bring bad memories to Wren.  And she seemed to have also bullied her way to foist novices on them.

Twins they will get as charges upon their return from their Rigelian mission. Due to the nature of their relationship and the formidable team they made, the custom of apprenticeship had never applied to them since this would imply an extended separation to focus on their individual novices.

Haven softly kissed Wren on the mouth this time. “I love you,” he whispered and trailed his lips downward (over chin, neck, pecs, and abs), finally nuzzling the golden brown curls on the base of Wren's cock.

Wren trembled, feeling the big hands rub his hips in sync with the movements of Haven’s face around his crotch. He swallowed hard— there was no need for an answer at the moment.

His former master’s thin lips grazed his cock head. Humming happily, Haven rearranged himself to lay sideways, almost in a 69 position, his face still on Wren’s crotch, giving open-mouthed kisses on the rock-solid shaft and kneading shrinking balls.

Haven’s cock was a thick column, jutting close to Wren’s face and trickling pre-come. Nevertheless, Wren focused his attention on the strong muscles of lover’s ass, tracing with his left hand those hard and inviting curves.

“Hmm, love that.” Haven murmured, enveloping Wren’s cock in the sweet heat of his wonderful mouth and pumping it with expert fingers.

“You don’t want me to last, do you?” Wren chuckled, amused.

“Actually, I need you to last a little longer, Master Wren.”

Haven only called Wren “master” when he was in need of penetration.

The thought almost made Wren come furiously. He moved to his knees, without disturbing the maddening suction around his cock, but allowed the back of his hand to stroke a hollowed cheek.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Ah, his beautiful Wren. 

Haven had seen Wren change from a slender godling into a powerful man. Thanks to the blessings of the Living Light, Wren was a wise, tall and muscular master. The little slave boy he'd rescued so many years ago for ninety-five credits and a loaf of dewberry bread, now inspired fear among evildoers throughout the galaxy.

Anyone might think they were the same age, except for the lock of white hair crowning Haven's head, memento of a disturbing moment when he thought he had lost Wren in the hands of an enemy, a situation even worse than when H’rak abducted Wren, planning to make the boy his personal pain slave. 

According to the sages, they would remain ageless for centuries due to the pureness of their love. A love meant to be indeed eternal.

Haven raised his eyes to admire the impressive figure with long, golden hair, caressing his cheek, as he sucked the thick, grown manhood with keen intention. The love pouring from Wren's eyes (intact even after all these years) had every cell of Haven's body aflame.

Using the abundant fluids flowing from his own cock to prepare his hole, Haven released Wren’s shaft and positioned himself on all fours. He looked back to Wren invitingly. He heard Wren utter a muffled curse. He mentally laughed because he knew how hard it was for Wren to withhold his climax— unable to focus the power of the Living Light easily, thanks to all the erotic sensations invading him. 

The Living Light could create formidable weapons of destruction but also help you control the functions of your body for survival or (as in the present case) pleasure.

Wren steered Haven's hip with one hand and teased his entrance with the other, rubbing his purpled head there. “Rest your chest on the bed, Master.”

“I’m not your master anymore,” Haven replied breathlessly.

“It doesn’t matter who’s taking whom, Haven. You will always be master of my heart, master of my body.”

Ten years together and their bodies were tuned as one. Haven's hole accepted the invasion with a tremor of pain and a melting heart. He was Wren’s, and Wren was his. “Yes, Wren. I accept that as long as you accept your mastery over my soul."

Fully sheathed within Haven, Wren pulled him up. With a strong hand on Haven's Adam's apple, he whispered, “Forever, Haven. We belong to each other.” Wren’s beard tickled Haven's earlobe with naughty playfulness.

“Fuck me, Wren. Fill me with your love,” Haven sighed.

And as Wren began thrusting with potent rhythm, Haven felt the Living Light surrounding them, swirling and becoming one with them, enhancing their senses and transporting them to infinite ecstasy. To a place where both minds became a single entity; where they dived into each other’s souls with complete truthfulness. Each one a Master by his own merits, they didn’t share a mental link anymore, and yet (in moments like this one) the understanding of their pleasure was blinding as sunshine for one another.

“So big, so hard in me, Wren.”

“Hard for you, my love, always for you.  The greatest aphrodisiac is your submission, my master.”

Wren took Haven’s cock and pumped it, without missing a beat of his sharp thrusts. Both were close, and the Living Light surrounding them became brighter and brighter in tune with their incoming climax. With an agonizing grunt of release, Wren started to fill Haven, still stroking and guiding him to Paradise.

“Yesss,” was all Haven could say as he convulsed, spurting jet after jet of precious seed in Wren’s large hands. They collapsed in a mass of tangled limbs on the ample bed. 

Minutes later, when his breath became steadier and still on top of Haven, Wren spoke, “I’m going to hate being away from you.”

Haven relished in the long tresses brushing his face, before he turned and whispered, mesmerized by the beauty of those eyes like the oceans of Radiant. “We’ll find the way to have moments like this. We could always send our novices to practice together for a standard hour or two.” He chuckled, watching the last adolescent trait in Wren, the biting of his lower lip when he was thinking too hard.

“I guess we could do that every other standard month.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of every other standard week.” Haven laughed openly this time.

“Even better, my love.” Wren laughed too and kissed Haven fully on the lips. “It’s time to get ready, a mission awaits.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Exactly two standard hours later, before they boarded their ship, the twins accompanied by Master Serin came to say goodbye. They had the annoying custom of speaking together as if they were one. “We are going to miss you both, Masters.”

Haven spoke with one foot on the platform already. “Don’t give trouble to Master Serin. We won’t tolerate mischievousness.”

Wren admonished in a somewhat softer tone. “Read the books we gave you. We will examine you two as soon as we get back.” Both younglings nodded, and he turned to enter the spaceship closing the door behind him.

With a wicked grin on his face, Haven murmured, giving him a soft peck. “I’m going to examine you, at least twice, before we arrive at Rigel Six.”


Pulling Haven for a deeper kiss, Wren conceded. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, master.”

Thursday, September 27, 2018

HEAVY PETTING DEMONS

A title, gone to the Book of Titles, which inspired some 600 hundred words...



Velia Soria
Living Block 1269

Ding Dong.

Aurelio "Elio" Blaze took a bite of his supper before turning his attention toward the door. Well, the pizza was technically his breakfast since he had just awoken an hour ago, and was finishing his meal to get ready for the graveyard shift at the Arcane Institute.

"What now?"

"There is a level three demon outside your door, Elio," Kenneth, the house computer, informed.

Elio chewed and swallowed before moving to his feet, cleaning his mouth with a napkin.  "Level three demons ringing my doorbell at this hour," he huffed under his breath.

Kenneth opened the door as soon as Elio faced it.

Dang.

The demon was kind of hot in a let's go to the leather bar, shoot pool, throw darts and then suck face for a while way. "How can I help you?" Elio asked.

"I'm here," the demon said. His voice was like something delicious bubbling in a very deep cauldron.

"I can see that." Elio eyed the well-toned body, clad in leather and mesh. "Still. How. Can. I. Help. You?"

"You called me." The demon smiled, blood-tinged skin made his white teeth spark, and they looked almost normal albeit a bit pointy.

"I did no such thing." Elio shook his head. "I'm pretty sure you got the address wrong, and I need to get ready for work." He looked up at Kenneth's camera and jerked his head, the silent order to close the door.

Before the door finished sliding, the demon put half his body into the space, preventing it from closing. "The thing is," the demon smiled again, his golden eyes shining mischievously, "you're the first mortal I see, so I'm latched onto you until I find the person who actually called me." He pushed the door open and entered the apartment. "Unless you did call me and just changed your mind." The demon winked.

Elio wasn't as big as the demon, but he had powers; he wasn't a Protection Mage at the Arcane Institute just for shit and giggles. "Dude, what kind of bullshit is that? I never heard of a demon latching onto the first mortal they see when summoned." Since the idiot seemed unable to go on his own, Elio would give him a hand. "What's your name?" he used the imperial voice.

"In this plane, you can address me as Mr. Nocta," the demon answered compelled by the supernatural tone.

"What is your purpose in this plane, Mr. Nocta?"

"To punish the man who hurt you."

Elio rolled his eyes. "The man who hurt whoever summoned you. Who happens to not be me."

"If you say so..." Mr. Nocta shrugged. "I can't go back without fulfilling my purpose."

"By now you must have realized I can send you back, haven't you?" Elio cocked his head.

"You can try," Mr. Nocta said softly, a smirk firmly planted on his handsome face.

Elio flailed his arms, about-facing. "You know what? I don't have time for this. I need to get ready for work." He stared longingly at the two remaining slices of meat-overload pizza. "You didn't even let me finish my frigging pizza!" He moved away from the demon. "Do not touch anything," he said over his shoulder before reaching his bedroom door.

"There's nothing here I need to touch." Mr. Nocta sounded like he was holding back laughter.

Asshole.

"Just..." Elio didn't finish. There was no point.


His bedroom door closed with an anticlimactic whoosh behind him.


#mmromance #menofgabbo #demons #mages #nearfuture #paranormal

Monday, August 20, 2018

COMING SOON - ARZANALE



#comingsoon #ARZANALE #mmromance #paranormal #supernatural #action #mercenaries #treasurehunters #badguys #antiheroes

Tuesday, June 5, 2018

AIN'T CUTE by Harwer Sinz

You think is cute to hate
but that only shows
how little you are
how pathetic your life is
‘cause your hating ain’t a flag
it’s just a piece of trash



#fiction #mmromance #character #Harwer_Sinz #music #dj #burlesque #kawaii #poetry #lyrics #verses #Horus #singer #raunchy #naughty #menofgabbo #pride #pridemonth #loveislove #stophate #notcute #gabbodelaparra

HARWER SINZ

Since I’m prone to moments of rambling poetry about our culture (not just in its #socialmedia incarnation but of #humanity in general) I thought it would be nice to create a character to bring all that nonsense to my books (and because music copyrights are the worst).

Harwer Sinz (of the porn Sinzes) is a burlesque-kawaii-inclined singer/dj more @cazwellofficial than @iamsirjet (but trying to be as sexy) who uses not provocative but blatantly raunchy lyrics to unleash my anger at the bullshit we waddle in and encourage every day.





Harwer is another name for Horus (the Egyptian god) and thus the eye symbol. I’m sure you do not need an explanation for the rainbow colors. I rarely write #contemporary stories, and when that happens you may find Harwer belting out naughty verses and shaking his money maker.

01 #FF: THOUGHT IT MEANT FISTING FRIENDS!
02 LOVE SEARCH: AN EFFING SAGA
03 GIRTH & WIDTH
04 SOCIAL (MEDIA) CHALLENGE
05 THE COLOR OF BLOOD
06 NAUGHTY FOLLOWERS
07 MANLY SINZ
08 PUNISHMENT HOARDER
09 ALL THAT SWIPING AND LYING
10 LITTLE EXHIBITIONISTS
11 I’M FINE AT 69ING
12 STEALTHING IN VENICE
13 MASC MANNERS
14 THE LOWDOWN OF THE DOWN-LOW






#fiction #mmromance #character #Harwer_Sinz #music #dj #burlesque #kawaii #poetry #lyrics #verses #Horus #singer #raunchy #naughty #menofgabbo #gabbodelaparra

Monday, May 28, 2018

NIGHTJAR from the event LOVE IS AN OPEN ROAD (2015)



The war between the kingdoms of Munus and Lakoneh ends when the greatest warrior of Lakoneh, Bracken the Lakon, is captured. Now he will become part of the Kept, the male harem of Adder, King of Munus.

As they discover the path to love and redemption, King and Warrior must learn that not everything is as it seems, and your worst enemy can become salvation to your people and your heart.



CHAPTER ONE 
TAKEN



“The gryphon riders are your solution.”
—Oracle of Apheilon at Cummia


“Oh, my King,” the warrior moaned.

Bracken didn’t like to be called king. All kings were a bunch of peacocks; he wasn’t like them. He took the cock out of his mouth and grunted, “Harder.”

It was great to have mighty cocks in both his holes, rewarding his warriors for a successful battle. These two were not the first fucking him tonight and would not be the last. The ambrosia of victory made him insatiable. He was proud— no other king of the Ten Kingdoms could say he had defeated Munus.

The hands gripping his hips pulled and guided. The hands pulling his braid and holding his jaw commanded. All three swayed as their bodies collided, dimmed lamps creating soft shadows in stark contrast with their powerful motions.

Long ago, before his older brother died, Bracken had wanted to be a scholar, but duty trumped dreams. Still, Apheilon was good; Bracken would never have known the pleasure of rough, calloused hands on his body if he were a man of letters instead of a warrior, protector of his people. He would not change a thing.

“So close, my King.” Jaxton, the one ramming his mouth, shuddered.

Bracken heard a ragged chuckle behind him. “I’ll beat you to it,” hissed Brummi, speeding his pumping.

On all fours, Bracken was a beast in heat, ready to climax without even touching his own hard cock. He moved the hand he had been using to clutch the unpretentious covers of his makeshift bed to tug between his legs— to join his men in completion. Three volcanoes erupted simultaneously. The internal scream of his climax was glorious as he was flooded in both ends.

Yells outside the tent sharply removed them from blissful heights. Their camp was under attack. One of his men entered the tent, his eyes wild. “King Bracken, gryphon riders!”

Fuck.

“Ride your vultures. Don’t leave a single one of those motherless dog-sons alive.”

Jaxton, Brummi, and Bracken jumped and scattered to grab weapons. Before the soldier could turn to leave the tent, a sword skewered him— his last sound a gurgled scream. They quickly picked up their long daggers; a tent wasn’t a place to wield big swords like his Charos.

Their nudity wasn’t a concern.

Ten enemies rushed in. Metal clashed. Bodies swirled.

Trained to fight in enclosed spaces like his low-ceiling tent, Bracken was surprised by the equal ability of his enemies. Their short swords didn’t arch but worked laterally and horizontally. Still, enemy limbs were severed; blood gushed and stained. Bracken rolled to avoid a sharp edge coming at him, the coarse floor mats feeling strange against his bare skin. He almost hurt himself with the main post of the tent. Luckily, the weapon of one of the attackers got stuck in that same post, giving him the chance to stab the bastard in his armpit to disable him and finish him with a quick throat slash. The gash sprayed blood over him.

Bracken lost Brummi first. By the time Jaxton went down, Bracken was surrounded by three wickedly thin swords pointing at his neck. “Come quietly, Lakon. We have orders to take you alive. I don’t like to disappoint my master.”

Bracken growled but let his long dagger fall. Better to live and fight another day.

That resolution flung dangerously as he stepped out of his tent. His camp had been razed. Not ten paces from his tent, four enemies were lancing the last giant bearded vulture alive, Silvercall— his own mount. Slowly rising in the east, the first rays of the new day made her white feathers look almost golden as she lay dying.

They tied Bracken’s hands and feet, then tossed him like a stinky bale on the lap of a rider. The gryphon jerked impatiently, eager to fly.

Shrieks and screeches accompanied the launching of a myriad gryphon riders. Bracken wondered how they had managed to come to their camp so quietly and surprise them.

They flew west toward the ocean, the taste of cum and blood on Bracken’s tongue— the seed of fallen warriors silently dripping from his hole. His hard-on softened as the adrenaline left his body. Mourning and dread were not options… yet.

Soon, potent wings sailed over Cummia, the islet where the Oracle of Apheilon resided. Only those strong enough to swim from the beach and brave the shark-infested stretch to reach the jagged shore surrounding the temple were worthy of an answer. Bracken had done it only once, for his people.

Perhaps if the vulhurs had been ready…

No. Lakonians didn’t dwell in “ifs.” When they heard the music, they’d face it and dance.

His custodian’s gryphon, and several more, alighted on a massive ship in the middle of the ocean. Bracken assumed the others continued to Munus. The sun was almost in its zenith; sweat made Bracken’s eyes itch. Good thing his hair was still tightly braided. He was pushed to his feet and untied. Sailors started to fill the deck. Some looked interested, others like they had better things to do than watch what was about to happen. Whatever that was.

“Bracken the Lakon. Rider of Vultures. King of Lakoneh. Welcome to my ship.” The voice should have been a whip, instead it sounded like rough fingers over his lips, prying them open. He heard the murmurs and noticed how those uninterested before were eager now.

Bracken turned to face the man. “Adder.” He would not say his enemy’s titles.

Adder tilted his head sideways; he smirked. “You would not acknowledge me as your equal?” He tsked and shook his head. “It will not change the outcome anyway.”

“I’m your prisoner. We are not equals.”

“You’re still a king.”

Bracken would still be a king after Adder bent him and fucked him in front of all his men, as was the custom with the vanquished. What would happen after that was a different matter. The shriek of a gryphon hardened Bracken. This fucker had killed his valiant men and their precious vultures, including his own Silvercall. He would take the humiliation for them. He would be claimed, but he was still bathed in the blood of his enemies.

Two soldiers grabbed his arms to guide him to Adder. Bracken shook them off. “I can go by myself.”

Icy eyes appraised him. “Eager?” asked Adder, and the men on the deck cackled. He was in full battle gear. Two manservants started helping him to undress.

“Why delay the inevitable? That’s not the Lakonian way.”

Forty paces later, Bracken stood in front of a naked, tall, and muscular Adder. His dark hair with faint whispers of silver enhanced the golden band adorned with three black diamonds over his brow. Bracken was shorter, but he didn’t need to raise his head to look at those cunning, night eyes. Bracken had a lot more white in his hair, but they were not old men; it was the burden of royalty and ruling.

Adder’s hard cock glistened in the midday blaze in its nest of night curls. Under other circumstances, Bracken would have appreciated length and girth and been excited about it. Same for the massive chest covered in delightful fur. Now it was pure duty, as many things had been in his life.

One of the manservants came with a pot of oil. Adder poured some over his cock, coating it. “Turn around and on your knees, King of Lakoneh.”

“You will take me standing. If you force me to my knees your cock will pay for it.”

These words gave pause to Adder— but fleetingly. If Bracken hadn’t been staring him down he would not have seen it.

“As you wish,” Adder said. A pinch of something Bracken couldn’t decipher made the voice deeper, almost heady.

A big hand found Bracken’s neck as soon as he gave his back to Adder. It caressed his Adam’s apple, while the oil-coated cock breached him. Soon Bracken was flush against Adder’s groin. It felt so fucking good he almost moaned. Almost. He didn’t close his eyes in bliss either. He glared, making eye contact with every single man on that putrid deck.

But this dog-son, Adder, didn’t batter Bracken like he was supposed to. He did it slowly, languidly, nearly savoring it. This wasn’t the way. The heat, the slowness, the hand caressing his throat, the fingers playing with his pubic hair, all conspired to unhinge Bracken. It was hard to resist; it was hard not to push back and impale himself on his enemy’s wonderful cock.

“You’re going to embarrass yourself,” Adder whispered playfully in Bracken’s ear.

“Damn you.”

“Beg me to stop.”

“No.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“No.”

Adder was whispering, while Bracken was answering back loudly. Surely the men around them thought Bracken was saying “no” out of fear or due to the humiliation of being vanquished. Adder grabbed Bracken’s cock and tugged.

“No.”

“I’m going to get you hard and make you come.”

“NO. That is not the way, and you know it!”

“Do I look like a give a fuck about the way?”

“Adder, stop,” Bracken sighed.

“Beg, so my men can hear you.”

“Adder, King of Munus, Beloved of Erin, Master of Gryphons, please stop,” Bracken said loudly. The only thing making it a plea was the word “please.” Everything else sounded like a command— or an insult. He knew Adder would not stop, but Bracken couldn’t bring himself to beg like a weakling. He would rather swallow his tongue to defuse his unhelpful libido.

“That’s a good king.” Adder pulled Bracken’s braid down, making his taut, wired body arch.

After three powerful thrusts, Adder came with a war cry that had his men cheering.

Bracken expected to be tossed toward the soldiers approaching them as Adder’s cock vacated him.

But Adder surprised him; he turned Bracken around and touched his brow with Bracken’s. They stood like that for several heartbeats. When they separated, he said to his men, “Bathe and clothe him. He and I will have a meal after that in the deckhouse.”


Bracken was taken below deck, where soldiers— not manservants— attended him. They let him soak his sore muscles in a wooden tub filled with warm water for a while. He was scrubbed and perfumed and given a rich burgundy tunic, a belt made of golden circular plates, and soft sandals that felt like pristine clouds. He didn’t let them unbraid his hair. Hair could be untied when you were done battling; Bracken didn’t think he was done yet.


available now at
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/832480

#fiction #mmromance #free #fantasy #reimagination #alternativehistory #AncientGreece #menofgabbo #ebook #wingriders #gryphons #vultures #kingdom #ocean #land #warriors #harem #kept #enemiestolovers #writer #men #guys #lovers #enemies #gabbodelaparra 

Tuesday, January 23, 2018

GOLDEN PRINCE DIAMOND KING - 1


ONE

“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.”

Fuck.

“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. It 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.”

Orrin sighed.

“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.