Royal Blood (ManxMan Fantasy Romance)

***5***

The Prince announced to his father the King that he was going on an inspection tour to the Shahsh fortress. At least for a month, with the view of some rest and relaxation, and a change of scenery.

King Talestra probably had very sound doubts that the scenery of the farthest northern fortress of Creede would provide much amusement and relaxation. Yet he said nothing, except hemming his approval. He could have been softhearted, but in no way stupid. He didn't even ask about the Royal Edict, which he signed the day before equally without questions. The Royal Edict, by the way, was torn up to pieces by the Prince's own hand.

Prince Dancennou now faced only one small problem. After so rough a night, not to mention two in a row, he was in no condition to ride a horse. And what military commander — well, deputy commander — would stoop as low as getting by carriage to his destination? Truth be told, the Prince didn't feel very comfortable even sitting in a soft chair. So there was nothing else left but good old magic. Daronghi went not to the court magician himself, but to his young apprentice, whose name he never bothered to remember.

He was barely able to contain his embarrassment asking the said apprentice for some kind of an anesthetic which could be applied locally on nether body parts, "...which are, how to put it... well, a bit tender after some unrestrained entertainment... err, you know, in bed? And if you as much as utter a word about it to anyone, you are dead!" The Prince could be very charming in time of need.

The young apprentice, by the name of Nero Nekrossa, didn't hold it against the Prince. He provided him with the suitable magical ointment and never said a word to anyone. Not then, not after. It was his discretion, not only his skills, which earned him the position of the court magician much later, in the reign of King Daronghi Dancennou.

The small problem solved, the Prince rode out of Trianess through the Gates of North with a squad of Royal Guards. He spurred his horse so hard as if he had been fleeing from a horde of demons. In a sense, Rudra was a demon, like one from an old tale. A demon would inflict unquenchable lust upon his victims, in order to lure them into his lair and torture them to death with horrible pleasure.

The Prince stayed the night in a tidy inn of a small village. The whole night long Daronghi tossed and turned in bed, not being able to sleep. He was tortured by the thoughts of Rudra, by the memories of his hot embrace. Daronghi was far from satisfied by those two nights, it was simply not enough. They never kissed, not once, how's that even possible? Daronghi would go mad if he was unable to taste his lover's lips.

It was decided then. Another night, only one. After that he would tell Rudra they were finished, they were not to meet again, and tell that to his face, as any brave man should. He was the Crown Prince of Creede, a man of the Royal House of Tisanneides. He descended from legendary Ashurran, the greatest warrior of all times. He would not run away like a coward.

In the morning he ordered his retinue to turn about. Again, he rode his horse so hard, it was still early in the afternoon when he had reached the capital. He was back through the Gates of North, back in the palace, back to square one, it seemed. Nothing had changed except for the mud stains on his boots and uniform after the hard ride.

Daronghi changed into civilian clothes which, as rumor had it, suited him even better than the military uniform. His heart fluttered when he went to the house where Rudra rented his tiny one-bedroom apartment. The door was unlocked. Daronghi came right in, calling Rudra's name. He wanted to see him so badly, it hurt. How could he even think about going away?

At the sight of the Prince the maid dropped her whisk and gasped, "Oh my God, Your Royal Highness!" She made a low curtsy.

"Where is Chevalier Ruatta?" the Prince asked, the unbecoming urgency of his request clearly showing.