A Tale of Two Realms: Written in the Hand of your Servant. Part 2:

Prince Yarogeth - North-East of King's See.

The Prince awoke from his tent with a grunt. Stretched his arms and legs, and crossed the field unashamedly naked, to go have a piss in the latrines dug by the servants. As he was doing so, he contemplated his life so far. He is eighteen, the Prince and heir to the Tridom - after his father Rivan the Fourth - tall, muscular, handsome, chiseled and rugged. He was the heartthrob of many a young maiden within the Three Kingdoms. Women spread their legs for him on demand. And this was to be his first, and definitely not last, adventure North.

His trail at arms with the sword and lance was excelling with every tilt. The Prince stood proud amongst many of the Tridom's best swordsmen and jousters. He still had to improve on the bow, and in tactics, however. He was also a born Sage, and had the Gift, seeing as his father was a Sage. He was not as powerful as some though, as his mother was not a Sage, and thus his power was limited. Which was why he required the tutelage of the King's Magus, Kalagarr.

Yarogeth liked and disliked the Wizard in equal measure. When they were experimenting on altering the solid with spells of violence, he enjoyed his time with the Magus. But for every hour of spell casting, they spent hours in the Realm of Spirits, in the Prince's own memory chamber, working on how to control all four aspects of the Gift. He excelled in Violence, but that was about it. He had raw power and succumbed to emotions too quickly, thus he could not be of any tactical advantage, or ethereal power, either. For the salvation of his immortal soul, he could not learn how to heal himself or those around him.

Kalagarr, however, had travelled with the scouts, probably days ahead of the main army by now. The King had sent him forward to see to the boy, Jon, if he inherited his parent's powers, and if not, to conduct the Ritual on the boy. Scainborough was high in the esteem and trust of the King. Ironic, since he doesn't even trust me. The King decreed that every child of William's marriage would have the Gift, as an extension of his love for Scainborough.

The Prince shaked his member twice, and walked back into his tent. The tent was big, and full of many treasures of his boyhood. The bed was wooden oak, and the quilt, made of feathers, held a prize of its own. A fair young maiden of only twenty years. Long of leg, with curly brown hair and even browner eyes. Eyes that sucked you in. And how Thressa Radoghir, Baroness of Radoghir, sucked the Prince into bed with those eyes. Every flicker, every blink oozed sexual desire for the Prince. He could feel it. She was hungry, and so was he.

He was instantly hard, even though he planned on sleeping in another hour. Sleep can wait.

He looked into her eyes which said, come ravage me, my Prince, ravage me with your tongue and cock. He jumped into bed and Thressa wrapped her legs around him. "I want to have you my way, this time."

"Yes." She kissed him. "I want you to do everything to me."

Two hours later, he was armed cap a pied and out on his war horse, running courses in the tiltyard against Ser Adrian, a newly made Knight of the King's Nine. The Nine were bodyguards for life. The honour was hereditary, and Ser Adrian was the fourteenth of his family to be made a member of the King's Nine. He wore a cloak of Purple, the Royal Colours, striped diagonally with turquoise his Clan Colours. Yarogeth was holding his own against Ser Adrian, both knights having scored hits. As they grew bored of the lance, they unsheathed their blunted training swords and charged at one another. Yarogeth kept his sword low, just as his master-at-arms hold taught him, and swept up at the last second. Adrian kept his in the middle, letting it almost loll in the charge, and swept it down on the Prince. The swords clanged together in a cacophony of steel.

WHANG!

Ser Adrian came away from the charge with his charger trotting lightly. The Prince lay face down on the floor. How? I did everything the maestro taught me. Ser Adrian knew what he was thinking, when the Prince turned around in an angry circle. "Don't worry, lad, I only won that because of my weight and strength. You'll come into it." He spoke to the Prince as if the Prince was a friend, and not his liege. The Nine were allowed that commodity. A luxury few could ever hope to attain. He raised his visor. "Let's get your bruises sorted, ey? Mayhap I think your woman can look into that aswell," he winked and the Prince blushed. "Don't think I don't know about that either. No secrets between the Nine and the Royal Family, you know how it is. Don't be ashamed either. The love of a woman, any woman, is something dear, and should never be squandered. You hear?"

"I hear," he nodded.

"Good. Squires!" Ser Adrian called. Squires came over to help the Prince onto his feet, and began to help him out of his armour. Within five minutes he was out of his armour, and walking back to his tent.

As he pulled back the cover to his tent, he spied Baroness Radoghir in a chair, reading. He was too tired to ask what the book was about, and forgetting his manners, he fell face first onto the bed, and closed his eyes, praying for sleep. After a few heartbeats he felt her hands on his calves and thighs, slowly yet firmly pressing into his muscles. She was relieving him of the taut tension within them, after riding many tilts. He grunted with satisfaction. "Gods, that is so good. I could almost swear that you could do anything to me right now and I wouldn't object."

"Anything?" she whispered and let him turn onto his back.

"What have you got in mind?"

She pulled off his shirt and began to kiss his upper body, shoulders, arms, neck. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.

"Do you love me?" he asked. Kiss. Kiss.

"No."

His eyes snapped open and he was about to rise- "And yes." He was confused now.

"What do you mean?"

"I love you because you are young, full of life and vitality. No, because you are easily swayed by your emotions. You need to control yourself, like you control your horse."

"I am not a horse," he said tensely.

"There you go," she said pointedly. "You don't even listen now."

"I'm sorry," he looked abashed, "forgive me?"

"What is there to forgive ... unless you do not let me have my way, this time?"

"Anything you want," he replied and he could feel her moisten through her shift, and he hardened at the thought. That night they spent making love, whispering together like two little girls, eating, drinking and laughing.

Come the morning, the King marched north again.