Lyrion's Gift [Elven Conceptions 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour ManLove) (4 page)

“Surely our lot isn’t as bad as all that,” Mulciber teased him. “Though I must agree with you on the feather bed. I shouldn’t mind a tumble in that myself if I thought the prince wouldn’t catch me.”

“An excellent idea. If the opportunity arises, I trust you shall inform me.” Arowan glanced over at him, and Lyrion recognized his mock-angry expression as the same one that often passed between Da and Fa. Were these men bonded in the same manner as his parents?

Hastily he reminded himself not to dwell on such matters. He could not afford to dissolve into a storm of tears and grief. Instead, he had to concentrate on finding a way to escape. Though Mulciber had taken the markers off the trees, perhaps he could make his way home somehow. Once he slipped back through the enchanted veil, he would be invisible to these outsiders even if they gave chase.

They trudged on, finally coming to a clearing where a few crude tents stood around a banked campfire. When they drew close enough, several more men emerged from the tents and the surrounding woods. All of them wore armor in the same style as Arowan’s and Mulciber’s. Many carried swords and spears that looked capable of inflicting serious wounds. Fleeing from them would not be easy.

Immediately, Lyrion found himself the object of the entire company’s fascinated attention. No less than ten men, excluding Arowan and Mulciber, gathered around him in a circle, murmuring and whispering to one another. Some pointed at the mark on his abdomen and discussed it in hush, almost reverential tones. A few even reached out to touch his arms and chest.

Lyrion felt terrified, but also strangely aroused by their interest. Once again his cock twitched and lifted from between his thighs, but this time he didn’t blush. The soldiers stared in wonder at his nakedness, their wide eyes traveling up and down his exposed body.

Finally Arowan stepped in front of him, blocking the soldiers’ view, and clapped his hands. Their attention reluctantly shifted to him. “As you can see, we have secured the prize the prince sent us out to claim,” he announced. “All of you are to remember his orders. The Hidden One is not to be injured, abused, or maltreated in any way. Call back the remaining scouts. We will break camp at once and begin our return journey to Mavra.”

The men cheered, obviously pleased to be going home, an irony that made Lyrion’s heart sink a little deeper in his chest. The encampment began to bustle as tents were torn down and the fire put out. Weapons and supplies were counted and loaded into small wagons which the men apparently pulled themselves, for Lyrion saw no pack animals nearby.

Another wagon rolled forward, drawn by a pair of soldiers who left it directly in front of him. Lyrion frowned in confusion until he saw the shackles inside.

“We’ll need to blindfold him, too,” he heard Mulciber tell Arowan in a low voice. “We can’t take the chance he’ll memorize the route.”

Lyrion considered struggling, kicking, even biting as a length of cloth was rolled around his eyes and steel shackles bolted into the wagon replaced the rope bonds on his wrists. What chance did he stand against an entire company of armored—and armed—warriors? Long-suppressed tears fell freely as he curled up without even a blanket to cover him or protect his tender buttocks from the rough wooden flooring. He wept as the small cart began to shake and shudder, carrying him off to his unknown new life.

* * * *

The journey through the forest lasted three days and two nights, with the soldiers stopping to create camps each time darkness fell. At the end of the first day’s travel, Arowan decided to remove his blindfold, apparently feeling Lyrion would be too disoriented to plot a return trip. Lyrion had no doubt he was correct. At night, Lyrion was released from the wagon and chained instead to whatever sturdy tree Arowan chose, though he was provided with a bedroll of his own. Back in his own village, he would have sneered in disdain at being asked to sleep on an itchy, rough blanket. After bouncing around naked for hours on rough wooden planks, it seemed a luxurious treat.

Eventually, he began to sense a growing excitement among the soldiers, and the forest grew less thick. A threadlike path through the trees appeared, and soon it turned into a road. Finally, in the distance, he spotted the outline of what looked like city walls. Lyrion knew his destiny lay close at hand.

Just before they reached the walls, the procession stopped at a small gatehouse, and Arowan approached the wagon.

“You’ll walk from here,” he announced, undoing the shackles. Lyrion began to rub his wrists in relief until he saw another soldier approaching. This one wore a different sort of armor, leading Lyrion to surmise that he was a palace guard rather than a foot soldier like the others. In his arms he carried a polished wooden box, which Arowan opened with care and deference. Lyrion’s stomach tightened when he saw him lift out a length of gleaming golden chain and a folded cloth dyed a shimmering shade of green he had never seen before.

“Stand here,” Arowan commanded, indicating the spot directly in front of him. Feeling he had no choice but to obey, Lyrion remained unmoving while Arowan and the palace guard applied this new and much shinier chain to his wrists, waist, and ankles. Though he had grown somewhat accustomed to being naked after spending so many days in his natural state, Lyrion felt that the chain around his waist, which pulled his hands tight against his sides, drew more attention to his bare cock swinging just below it.

He experienced a fresh surge of panic when Arowan unfolded the green cloth and he recognized a hood without eyeholes.

“Though these circumstances are somewhat unusual, you are still entering the kingdom as a captive,” Arowan explained when Lyrion cringed. “As a prisoner, you may not look upon the prince until he gives you permission. However, there’s nothing to worry about. It’s strictly ceremonial.” His whiskered mouth curved in a smile. “You’re going to please him very much…in every way, I would expect.”

The words only partially soothed Lyrion’s nerves, and he found himself shivering when he heard the enormous gates to the city scrape open. Though he could see only shadows through the hood, he was aware of crowds lining the path they walked upon, which was paved with flat stones that bit into his bare feet. These people, too, regarded him as some amazing rarity, and he heard their whispers and even a few cheers as he was paraded past the unseen throngs by Arowan and Mulciber, who each held one of his arms.

Next, the texture beneath his feet changed to a different, smoother type of stone, and his surroundings grew much quieter. Something told him they were now inside the palace.

A heavy set of doors groaned open in front of him, and he stepped into another room. This one had cloth on the floor, an odd custom he had never heard of, and all was silent except for a quickly stifled gasp from a fresh group of unseen onlookers. Mulciber and Arowan stopped walking, and to his alarm they stepped away and left him alone.

He had the sense he was in the middle of a room with an unknown number of people watching him. Lyrion fought back a fresh surge of trepidation and forced his knees not to tremble. He heard the whisper of footsteps against the floor cloth, and realized someone was walking toward him.

“He bears the mark,” a clear, authoritative voice announced. Lyrion felt fingertips brush over his bare skin, touching a spot just above the chain. “He is exactly as the scroll describes. You have done well, my warrior lords.”

“Thank you, prince,” Mulciber and Arowan said in unison. “He claims his name is Lyrion. He is surely one of the Hidden Ones.”

Sweat began to drip down Lyrion’s forehead and chest. The prince himself was inspecting him…touching him.

“I want to see his face. Captive, would you like your hood removed?”

Lyrion struggled to find his voice. He had no idea how to address a prince, so he took a guess based on what he had heard so far. “Yes, my prince,” he managed to whisper.

The prince’s fingers moved away from his mark, briefly dropping lower to brush against his cock. Lyrion swallowed when he felt it stir and harden at the contact. Would the prince take this as a terrible insult, an unforgivable breach of propriety?

A rush of cool air swept over his cheeks as the hood came off. Lyrion found himself looking into the most startling, intense pair of dark eyes he had ever seen.

Far from offended, the prince smiled at him.

“I like his face immensely,” he announced to the entire room. “This will be the man to bear my heir.”

The prince dropped his hand to his side and stepped back. “Take him to my chamber and bathe him,” he ordered without taking his eyes from Lyrion. “No doubt his long journey has made him weary. I will speak to him in private later.”

Two young men in matching tunics and belts stepped forward to lead Lyrion from the throne room. They escorted him down a long stone corridor, which he marveled at as he walked along, and ushered him through a wide wooden door.

He held his breath in wonder as he took in the ornately furnished room, complete with an enormous four-poster bed curtained with the same shimmering green material as the hood the prince had removed. In the opposite corner stood a large metal tub, similar to the wooden ones people used for bathing in his own village. Six pails of water waited in front of a stone fireplace that reached from the floor nearly to the ceiling.

One of the servants tugged on his chain, guiding him to step into the tub. The other retrieved two pails of warm water. Lyrion noticed that they gave off a pleasant floral scent, which transferred to his skin as the two men began pouring it over him. When they had used all six pails, they guided him back to his feet. One patted his body dry with soft cloths while the other brushed his freshly washed hair, all without removing his chains.

They were still hard at work when the door creaked and another man slipped into the room. This one had hair almost as long as Lyrion’s, though it was of a startling reddish color he had never seen before. His garment was equally unusual, the material so thin it did little to conceal the outline of his chest or even his privates, which he had adorned with some sort of jewelry. Of course, Lyrion was in no position to be concerned with modesty when he himself had promenaded through the entire city and palace wearing only a length of chain.

The newcomer stepped closer and looked him up and down. The two servants continued their work as though he were not even there.

“So you’re the one about whom I have heard so much talk. Perhaps you have heard of me, too.” He touched his chest proudly. “I am Kevris, Prince Talek’s concubinus.”

“Concubinus?” Lyrion blinked. The ways and words of these people were most confusing. “What is that?”

The one called Kevris tilted his head back as though offended. “You do not know? Are you ignorant?”

“In the ways of this land, I suppose the answer must be yes.”

Kevris’s eyes narrowed to angry slits. “You seem very sure of yourself,” he said, startling Lyrion. He was, after all, covered in chains and at the mercy of the prince and even his servants. He felt far from sure of anything.

“Most assuredly, I think no such thing. Please explain your meaning.”

“I might have known you would try something like this. You seem quite sure the prince will enjoy your mummery. I, for one, do not believe you are as innocent of our ways as you pretend. In time, Prince Talek will see such schemes for what they are. And I intend to help him to that realization.”

Without warning, Kevris reached out and curled his fingers around Lyrion’s bollocks. He squeezed them playfully at first, then much harder, until Lyrion recoiled with pain. Just as abruptly, he let go and drew back.

More perplexed than ever, Lyrion parted his lips to respond. A harsher voice from the doorway made that unnecessary.

The prince crossed the room in three rapid strides. Anger clouded his face. “Kevris! I did not send for you! Why are you here?”

“I came to see the Hidden One,” Kevris said without betraying the slightest touch of alarm. Lyrion was not sure whether to regard his nonchalance with horror or admiration. “I am most curious, like everyone else in the kingdom.”

“You may indulge your curiosity at some other time, which I will determine. Leave us now.” The prince gestured to the servants, who stood frozen with a fear they were trying not to show. “The two of you may go as well.”

“Yes, my prince.” Kevris spoke the words in a formal tone, but Lyrion saw the sneer curling his lip. He felt quite sure the prince did, too.

Finally, the three of them left, the two servants carrying the water-filled tub out by its rope handles. Kevris followed them at a leisurely pace. Soon Lyrion stood alone before the prince.

“I trust you enjoyed your bath. I always find warm water soothing after a journey of any length. I can imagine how long yours must have seemed.” He scowled when Lyrion offered no response. “Why does everyone think I enjoy hearing my own voice echo off the walls? That is perhaps the only reason I keep Kevris here at all. He is not afraid to converse with me. Speak!”

“I beg your pardon, prince. I did not want to overstep my place.”

“If Kevris was the reason for your silence, pay no mind to anything he said to you,” Talek said with an impatient wave of his hand. “He assumes his position in my household is far more secure than it truly is.”

Nervously, Lyrion bowed his head. “I was unable to comprehend what his position is. He used a word I did not know.”

The prince snorted in disdain. “He uses a good many words I wish I did not know. However, whatever he might claim to be is of no importance. Though he has served me well, ’tis your service I am far more interested in at the moment. Did the soldiers tell you why I sent them out to find you?”

“I believe they tried to explain their purpose,” Lyrion said, his blush returning. “However, I wonder if I did not misunderstand them as well.”

Talek traced his fingers down the front of Lyrion’s bare chest, as he had done in the throne room. This time, though, he didn’t stop at simply brushing his hand over the mark and Lyrion’s cock. Instead, he traced the mark with the tips of his nails, leaving a small indentation. Then his hand moved lower. His grasp was both urgent and possessive, though not in the least uncomfortable. Lyrion longed to touch him back, but his shackles made that impossible.