King Rian and his personal guard have retreated to the throne room to make their last stand. Prince Lachlan is hidden behind the throne, much to his chagrin--he would rather be fighting--but his father insisted. The king is sitting in his throne, preparing for the final struggle.
The doors shudder every time the battering ram hits, finally cracking and giving way. Soldiers swarm in, quickly dispatching the personal guard. The sheer force of numbers overwhelms them. The commander, who they had seen from the ramparts for days, strides in. He's a huge man, with dark skin and long hair. Without a word, he runs his blade through King Rian's chest.
Rian tries to keep his death as quiet as possible so his son won't hear and leave his hiding place, but some noise is inevitable as he perishes.
Commander Mateo chuckles, nodding to two of his guard. They drag Prince Lachlan out from behind the throne.
"There you are, little princeling."
Lachlan struggles wildly--he still hasn't seen his father's body--and jabs with his short sword as much as he can with his arms pinioned.
They take his sword away and kick it across the floor. "Want to kiss your father goodbye?" the commander asks. "He's still twitching."
The prince screams with rage and grief, almost breaking free as the emotion gives him strength, but the older, larger soldiers hold him fast. He sags between them, trying to hide his furious tears.
The commander walks up to him, tilting the younger man's head up by the chin. "Now, what shall we do about your kingdom, little king?"
Lachlan tries to jerk his face away, glowering at his large captor. "My people will never allow you to rule them, no matter what you do to my family," he sneers, trying to sound braver than he feels. I'm not ready to be king, he thinks, sadly.
"I don't really care to rule them. There are two options available to you, boy." Mateo took a few steps away, pushing the dead king out of the throne and sitting down, his feet resting on the back of the dead man. "I can burn your kingdom to the ground and kill everyone in it. Or, you can submit to me and rule your kingdom under my close watch."
"If you don't care to rule them, what do you want? Why are you here?" he asks, carefully looking only at his captor's face, ignoring his father's defiled body for the moment.
"We only want to occupy, to take your resources and live atop the backs of your citizens." he chuckled, taking off his gloves and putting them neatly over the arm of the throne. "Either that, or kill everyone, if we cannot gain control of the people."
Prince Lachlan grinds his teeth, his head bowed as he thinks. Finally, he raises his eyes again. "Alright. I will submit to you, on your oath that my people will go unharmed."
"On my honour." Mateo made a salute that was common to his people, alien to the little Prince. He again nodded to his soldiers. One of them knelt in front of the commander, undoing his armour and breeches. The other guards started to strip Prince Lachlan.
Lachlan's eyes go wide--he isn't sure what's going on, being innocent--but he's certainly humiliated by being stripped. He fights not to blush, eyes stormy. "At least give me a hand free to...cover myself..." he orders the men holding him.
They just grin a little, not responding to him. Another pair of them pick him up by the ankles, carrying him to the throne.
Lachlan's nostrils flare with his angry breaths, but he's quite helpless. He rolls his head from side to side, trying to see what's going on.
He can see the soldier's head bobbing in the commander's lap as the men lower him closer to Mateo. The commander takes his sheathed sword and touches the tip of it to Lachlan's tight opening.
The prince frowns in confusion, not sure what the soldier is doing. Is it some kind of obeisance? Then he feels the sword touching him very inappropriately, and squirms, trying to lift his hips between the men holding him to get away.
Mateo smiles, looking almost contented as he slides the scabbard slowly into the squirming boy. The men push him into the oddly-shaped implement slowly.
Lachlan bites his lip until it's almost bleeding, trying not to cry out. His nails are dug into his palms, and silent tears are running down his cheeks. Finally, he gives a hoarse scream.
Mateo's expression gets more and more pleased as the soldier's head in his lap bobs faster and Lachlan is impaled further. Mateo finally spasms, grasping the hair of the soldier sucking his cock and thrusting the sword out, further into the captured prince. His men keep Lachlan held up until they get another nod from him, pulling him off the sword.
The prince screams again as it's forced deeper, his body shaking with sobs. His mouth and eyes are wide with shock and he shudders violently as the sword is withdrawn, the rough leather stained with his virgin blood.
The men put his feet down, letting him collapse to his knees. "Good." Mateo chuckled. "I'm satisfied with your submission."
Lachlan kneels, shivering, on the rough stone floor, hardly feeling it. Only his royal upbringing keeps him from spitting at the man's feet--or vomiting. As it is, he can only remain motionless, head bowed again.
"Kill him." he waved the men away. They started to drag the naked, bleeding prince out of the room.
"What about your oath?!" the prince screams as he's dragged from the room. "You monster!"
"You have no citizens, boy! A dead prince can rule over nothing!" he laughed, his laugh echoing out of the throne room to follow Lachlan.
Lachlan goes limp, allowing himself to be dragged, shaking with furious, helpless, pained sobs.
There was a whistle of arrows and two of the guards dropped to the ground. The others followed soon after, feathered shafts sticking out of their chests and necks. Lachlan heard footsteps, then felt someone kneeling with him, throwing a riding cape over him. "Your majesty."
Lachlan looks up, weakly. He smiles wearily at his saviour, before collapsing into unconsciousness...
The young man bundles up the prince, throwing him over his shoulder and making his way down to the stables by a quiet route used only by servants. He threw the prince over a horse, mounting behind him and nudging the horse. They rode out almost unnoticed, escaping the breached walls easily and entering the forest.
***
He realizes that he's naked under the cloak he's wearing. There's a fire not far from him and someone crouching by it.
Lachlan tries to sit up, to see the figure more clearly, only to double over with a groan, feeling as though he's been stabbed low in the gut. The cloak falls aside, revealing his pale, lean young body.
The other man goes to his side, covering him up gently. "How are you feeling, my Prince?" The man leaning over him was about his age, with fair skin and dark hair and eyes. He looked fit and his hands were callused from work.
"Ahhh..." Lachlan gasps, clutching his abdomen. Then he remembers everything in a rush, so powerfully that he's literally knocked back, landing on his butt on the cloak. He cries out as this wounded part of his anatomy hits, and he tries to find a comfortable, dignified position. Finally, he looks up at his rescuer with pained eyes. "I'm fine..." he gasps, obviously lying.
"Here, sir." the man hands him a mug of something steaming. "It should help with the pain." he sat just far enough back that he wouldn't intrude on the prince's space. "I'm Arran."
"Mmm...thank you..." the prince says weakly, taking the drink. His nose wrinkles at the sharp, herbal scent of the drink. "...what is it?" he asks, looking anxious. "...Lachlan..." he says, rather pointlessly.
Arran smiles. "I know, sir. It's a medicinal tea. It should numb the pain and help you heal." he made a helpless gesture. "I'm afraid I can't do anything more."
Lachlan nods meekly. "Thank you." He sips the drink, trying not to grimace at the taste. Sure enough, he soon feels better. When he feels steadier, he begins asking questions. "How did we...how did you rescue me?"
"I shot the men who had you and we escaped on horseback." he nodded to the mare who was grazing a little ways away. "I'm... sorry about your father."
Lachlan nods and heaves a heavy sigh, pushing the thought out of his head, trying to think what to do. "We'll need to raise an army..." he murmurs, overwhelmed and a little foggy from the drink.
"Not until you're better, sir." Arran said firmly, cushioning the prince's head against his thigh and stroking his hair in an effort to help him sleep. "You rest."
"Ah...yes..." he settles in against the thigh. "Will we be safe here for a while? Not to question you...I'm sure you know..." his eyes are rather wide--he's not sure how to defer to the other's experience while still remaining in charge. He finds himself quite relieved by the gentle contact, closing his eyes.
"I'll stand watch until the fire dies down, then nothing can find us until morning. We'll travel more tomorrow if you can manage sitting on a horse, sir." Arran murmured.
Lachlan winces at the thought of his tender, tender anus bouncing along on a horse, but he nods as bravely as he can. "Ah, yes. Of course." He gives a gently dismissive gesture, rather uncertainly.
"We'll see how you feel tomorrow." Arran smiles. Clearly the tea was taking effect and soon the prince was sleeping soundly. Arran stayed awake until the fire died down, then tucked himself into the cloak with the prince to keep the other man warm.
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