The Blue Prince

It was warm and dim in the tavern, and the table was private, or as private at one was likely to get in such a place. Tucked in a corner, too far from the fireplace and the bar to be of interest to most of the patrons on this bitterly cold night, it barely fit the two men who sat at the small, round table.

Some twenty minutes ago, the gaunt, well-dressed, bland faced stranger had entered the bar and, after studying the quiet crowd within with fierce concentration, had taken a long, hard look at Gerulf and offered to buy him a drink, on the condition that they talk.

Now, after some considerable time listening to veiled references and subtle questions, he was getting sick of the other man. He leaned forward in his chair, feeling the wooden frame creak underneath him, saw the stranger lean back a little as his space was encroached upon.

“You’re trying to ask if I’m a lover of my own sex, yes?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

The stranger’s pallid face paled further. “I-I…yes. I hope that-“

“I am, you’d be right. But you see, I don’t make a habit of going off with anyone with money. And frankly fellow, you look as if you’d break if I did anything to you. Maybe you should try for somebody more your own size, eh?”

He made a move to rise, but the stranger waved him hurriedly back into his seat. “No, you don’t understand! I’m here on behalf of …another.”

“Oh? You’ve a friend?”

“My…employer has a certain taste for…men of your stature.”

Gerulf nodded, and glanced around the bar. He stood a head or more taller than anyone else in the tavern that evening, and his years as a soldier had left its mark on his body, in the form of powerful muscle and a straight, imposing posture. It seemed rather a lot of men had a ‘taste’ for his size. Most of the time he found them annoyingly shallow, and often unwilling to follow through once they saw him naked and realised what they were actually proposing to achieve.

“So your employer wants a male whore? Why come in here? Why not go walk through the river docks or find a decent brothel?”

The pale face flushed at such brashness. “My employer seeks a…companion who is capable of discretion. I understood that a great number of the patrons of this particular establishment were of military or law enforcement backgrounds and so-”

“So you figured we’d be better at keeping things under wraps than a common whore? You may be right. But why me? I’m not the only bruiser in this place, and let’s face it, I’m not exactly pretty.” He sat back in his chair and tilted his face so that the light fell across his right cheek, showing the worst of the scars.

“My employer is not merely looking for company for a night, sir. The intention is to employ a companion. Long term. And it is my understanding, from the scraps of information that one of this tavern’s staff has been bringing me, that you are having difficulty finding employment, in part due to a lack of enthusiasm for your regular career. Would this be correct?”

Gerulf stifled a laugh and wondered briefly who could have been talking. “It wouldn’t be…unreasonable to say that, I suppose.”

“You were a military man.”

“I was a military man. And after this all happened,” he said, waving a hand at the web of scars across the side of his face, “I couldn’t pass the physical test fast enough to get a new tour. So I became a mercenary. But it seems there aren’t many with a lot of tolerance for an ugly mercenary. Or one who likes men. Or one with any sense of humour. Folk who hire us wants some scowling, invulnerable looking man-mountain they can point at and say ‘you don’t do this, my fellow here’s going to crush you’. You know?”

“I…yes, I understand. But, you are currently without employment, yes?”

“I am currently without employment, yes.” Gerulf replied, trying not to smile too widely at the other man. It seemed to be making him uncomfortable, but the only time his face felt right these days was when he smiled. “You been searching long?”

The man’s face dropped a little. “Yes. My employer is…choosy. As he has every right to be, of course. You are the sixteenth man I have approached.” He glanced warily at Gerulf’s face. “The last one was refused for being too pretty.”

Gerulf let out a bark of laughter that made the stranger jump in his seat. “Well, I can hardly be accused of that. And what exactly would happen if I were not to measure up?”

“You would be fairly compensated for your time and asked to sign a document agreeing to confidentiality. Please study this,” he said, proffering a neatly folded sheet of paper. The bright blue wax seal on it had been cracked, the insignia obscured. Probably his employer had wanted to make sure nobody but his man could see it. Paranoid, perhaps. Gerulf unfolded it carefully. The document inside was a fairly simple employment contract, offering a live-in arrangement with a surprisingly high rate of pay. “Your employer must be rich.”

“Please, read the document.”

“Yeah.” The rest of it was fairly straightforward. Any references to sex were couched in terms that could have meant anything; ‘personal service’ or ‘physical assistance’, and the actual nature of his duties could have been anyone’s guess. It also looked like it would be pretty easy to get out of, if he should need to. Evidently the person doing the hiring wasn’t set on keeping his companion for life. Sounded pretty good.

“Just to be sure, your employer is a man. A grown man.”

“Yes. One whom is generally thought to be quite attractive too.” He said it awkwardly which told Gerulf two things; that this stranger was straight and that he wasn’t lying.

“Can I meet your employer before I decide?”

“Oh yes, in fact I have instructions to set up a meeting. If you are interested in the prospect, that is.”

Gerulf thought carefully for a moment. Even though he was healed, as much as he was ever going to be, there was so little going on that the army were barely bothering to recruit now, and as he’d told the stranger, he had little work through other channels. He liked sex, he was good at it, wouldn’t mind at least meeting this rich, good looking person. But what did it say about him that he needed to hire somebody to sleep with him?

“I’ll meet him, then see what’s what. That okay?”

“Naturally. You realise, of course, that as much as you will be assessing him, he will be assessing you?”

“Alright.”

“Then meet me at, ah, the end of this street-”

“Veisgarten Street.”

“Yes, tomorrow evening at-” he took a sliver fob watch from his pocket and glanced at it, “eight o’clock. Yes?”

“Yes. I’ll be there.” His eye strayed to some odd movements in the crowd, just beyond their private little corner. The stranger got to his feet.

“Please present yourself well. My employer is a man of refinement. And…wash.”

“What!?” Damn it all, he was perfectly clean! That pissed him off enough that he almost didn’t stop the picker he spotted following the stranger towards the door, no doubt intent on that shiny silver watch. At the last minute though, his better nature caught up with him and he strode over and grabbed the little bastard by one wrist, bent his arm up behind his back, held him until the stranger had cleared the door and then propelled him violently onto the street. A glance back showed the innkeeper nodding amenably at him.

Then he turned up the collar of his coat and stepped out into the cold night, wondering vaguely who used blue wax for a seal.

*

The following evening Gerulf bathed(even though he was already perfectly clean, he figured it couldn’t hurt if there was a chance he might end up in bed with some spoilt little prince type), combed his hair flat in the weak hope that it would dry neatly and put on his best clothes. Currently that consisted of the jacket from his old dress uniform with the pips and brocade removed, trousers that his landlady had handed down to him from her late husband (who must have been gargantuan because he’d actually had to get them turned up) and a long wool greatcoat that an ex-employer had given to him as a bonus for good work. With the more presentable of his two white shirts and his old, battered boots, hastily tidied up with a great deal of polish, it all looked pretty good.

He set off through the streets with sufficient time to spare to get to the junction at the end of Veisgarten Street. He was fairly resistant to the cold, so he wasn’t wrapped up, but even so he turned his coat collar up around his face. Often more sensitive people would get a look at him and gasp out loud, which put him on edge. Again, the evening was bitter, no blanket of clouds to protect the city from the chill. The stars were bright above the streets, and Gerulf looked up to search for constellations. He could see the lantern, for an uncertain future, and the hunting dog, for something he needed to seek. Not much help.

The junction of Veisgarten and Millamont street was well lit, and there were people bustling about even at this time of night. A few of the stores along the way were still open, and the taverns and eateries seemed to be well populated. He could see the clock tower from where he stood and realised that he was a couple of minutes early. No sign of that gaunt, smartly dressed man, yet.

From across the street a woman in a hitched skirt and a thread worn corset made bleary eyes at him in an attempt to be seductive. Fucking irony, considering where he was headed. He nodded politely at her, then turned away, hoping she took the hint. An elderly couple, wrapped up like Northish folk, promenaded slowly past him. The woman glanced up at his face briefly, and her eyes widened in fear. Gerulf stifled a sigh.

Just as the clock tower bell made its first ponderous chime, a carriage came rattling along the street, the gaunt man’s face visible from the window. As soon as he spotted Gerulf he banged his fist on the panel and the driver drew the horses to a halt. It was a smart carriage, not terribly ornamental, but well made from good quality materials, and well kept. The driver wore no distinctive livery, but his clothes were well made. Gerulf had been thinking that his prospective employer was a nouveau riche, but this looked more like the property of a minor blue blood.

The door opened and the man impatiently waved him in. The inside of the carriage was plush and warm, and Gerulf sank into the seat, arranging himself as neatly as he could in the small space. The man struck his hand against the panel again, and the driver pulled away with a clatter of hooves.

“My name is Armas,” the man told him. “You still have the contract?”

Gerulf took it from his coat pocket and held it up. Armas reached for it.

“Good. We’ll be there soon. My employer’s name is Mihai. Should he decide to retain you, he will provide a full contract with all parties named. Of course, you shall call him by his title. I’ll explain further when we arrive.”

“Alright,” Gerulf replied. That seemed to be all Armas had to say at that point. The shutter on the window hadn’t been pulled, so Gerulf looked out, watching the streets pass by in the dark. He recognised the route they were taking; it was a major road that headed into a rich part of the city, and then out into the hills beyond the city walls and down to the coast. He wondered how far out this ‘Mihai’ lived. The name sounded familiar somehow.

Armas seemed uncomfortable, sitting awkwardly and staring hard at a section of the wooden moulding on the inside of the carriage door. Gerulf knew all too well that most men found him intimidating, but he got the feeling that it was more the nature of his current job that was upsetting the man. He was probably a secretary or a valet of some kind, never set up to be a procurer.

They were passing through the wealthier district of the city now, speeding past ornate villas and venerable mansions set back from the road in large expanses of lawn. Some were lit with lanterns hung from porches and ornamental trees, making them gleam in the starry darkness. The carriage was still speeding along though. They must be getting close to the city wall.

“This employer of yours, are we meeting at his home tonight?”

“Yes, it’s his family home, but you’ll be meeting him in his private suite.”

“We’re getting close to the walls. Is his house outside?” There were neighbourhoods and settlements close outside the city walls, but they were mostly smallholdings or for the owners and workers of small trading companies that dealt with the further dwelling places.

“No, his home is inside the old city boundaries.”

Gerulf watched the window a little more. They went past a large, tree-scattered park which he recognised as Saint Brenice’s. That meant they were on Imperial Way, which meant…

“We’re on the road that goes to the palace, right? I didn’t know there were any residences along here. Apart from the palace itself.”

“There aren’t,” Armas said simply.

“Oh.”

A member of the royal household had to be above board in all things. No bad behaviour of any kind, nothing that could possibly affect the happiness or the reputation of the ruling family. Keeping a paid lover was a definite no, so they were out. And that just left the family themselves, of which…

“Prince Mihai? Damn it, I can’t believe it took me so long to recognise the name!”

Armas said nothing, but he looked directly at Gerulf for the first time since he’d asked about the contract. He was obviously surprised that Gerulf recognised the name.

“I’ve heard of him. Youngest of the three princes, yes? Don’t look so surprised, I was a member of the King’s Brigadiers for most of my military career.”

Armas nodded at him, still rather wide eyed. Understandable. The public heard comparatively little of the youngest Prince, little enough that it was almost suspicious. He was never seen in public. There were rumours abound that he was deformed or sickly, some even said that he had died as a child and the family had covered it up.

But apparently he was alive and well, or at least well enough to be employing a male concubine.

With his back to the driver, Gerulf didn’t see the approach to the palace through the window, remaining unaware of how close they were until the driver drew the horses to a stop and a guard started asking questions outside. Armas showed his face at the window, and then they were on the move again. The palace gardens were lit by lanterns on small plinths which lined both sides of the driveway. In the blackness, he could make out the shapes of manicured shrubs and trees, pale statues scattered here and there.

There was another checkpoint before they went through the gates of the palace proper; at that point Gerulf’s curiosity got the better of him and he leaned forward to slide the window open and look out. He could feel Armas scowling at him, but didn’t care. He’d be a fool to think a little prince would want him around, so this might be the only decent look he ever got of the palace by night. It was a real masterpiece of architecture, the scrolling detail of the masonry giving the imposing shape a measure of delicacy and grace. The pale marble gleamed like the moon.

The carriage swung around on the gravel drive, following a small split path around the side of the main building and through an archway, then pulled up to a stop. The driver climbed down from the box and opened the door for them, taking a good long look at Gerulf as he clambered out. The temperature had dropped since they’d set off, and Armas was shivering. The small courtyard they were in had doors leading back into the main building of the palace, and also one leading into the building on the other side of the archway, both of which were guarded by soldiers in palace livery. The two structures seemed to be connected by a corridor running over the top of the arch, up on the first floor. He could smell stables nearby, and a gate in a far wall appeared to lead to a small garden. Armas gestured for Gerulf to follow him and led the way through the door to the smaller annex.

Inside, the hallways were richly and tastefully decorated, as Gerulf would have expected of the palace itself. Armas noticed him looking around.

“Since there is some…friction between Prince Mihai and his family, it was found preferable all around to have his suite arranged in this section of the palace.”

“I see,” Gerulf replied, even though he wasn’t sure he understood. If the royal family were at odds with each other, somebody would have heard about it, but nothing had come down the grapevine.

Armas led the way up an ornate spiral staircase to a wide landing. There were two statues in the far corners of the square space, both tasteful nudes. Male nudes. Gerulf thought he might actually like the Prince. There was a large double door opposite the top of the staircase, and Armas swung it open and entered the suite, ushering Gerulf through an arched doorway and into a lavishly decorated parlour.

“Please allow me to take your coat. I will let his Majesty know that you are here. Have a seat.” Gerulf removed his coat and handed it to Armas, who draped it over his arm. The other man looked him over for a moment, then nodded approval at his dress. “Please remember to mind your manners with his Majesty, and call him by his proper title. As I have said he is a very particular man.”

Gerulf nodded, and Armas left the room, closing the door behind him. There was a fire blazing under the marble fireplace, so Gerulf settled into one of the large horseshoe-backed chairs next to it and got comfortable. He heard the faint sound of voices on the landing, a door being opened and then closed. The branches of the trees behind the building were rattling in the breeze.

Gerulf wasn’t sure how long he waited there, but in the warm, comfortable room, his eyelids were beginning to feel heavy by the time the door opened and somebody entered. He rose to his feet and turned, expecting to see Armas again, but no.

It was the Prince.

He was in his mid twenties, slim and long-limbed. Far from being deformed, his face was angular and sharply attractive, his hair as thick and darkly glossy as mink fur. Gerulf turned fully and made a formal bow, the old gesture immediately familiar to his body. When he straightened up, the prince was studying him carefully, his pale eyes travelling up and down Gerulf’s form. The younger man’s expression was cool, almost calculating. He walked quietly across the room to the fireplace, and dropped gracefully into the other chair there, waving Gerulf back into his seat and smoothing the delicate fabric of his old-fashioned suit.

“Your name is Gerulf?” His voice was chilly and faint, almost expressionless.

“It is, your Majesty.”

“What happened to your face?”

Gerulf almost smiled at his bluntness. “I was a soldier, your Majesty. I was injured on a campaign, when a building I was patrolling caught fire.” The Prince studied him carefully, and Gerulf simply sat still and allowed it. He knew what had caught the Prince’s curiosity; the burn scars had made the skin across the right side of his face into a smooth, shiny expanse of dull pink, except for a few patches where the flesh seemed to have been frozen in shallow creases. That was where the intense heat of the fire had caused it to bubble and ripple.

“Did it only affect your face?”

“No, your Majesty. The scars are also on my shoulder and chest.”

“They look the same?”

“More or less, your Majesty.”

“Show me.”

Gerulf sometimes wondered if he was too well trained. Before he could even consider the command an insult, he was unfastening his jacket, then the top few buttons of his shirt, and baring his right shoulder. The Prince looked passively at the bared flesh.

“You are very muscular,” he noted calmly. “This comes of being a soldier?”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“Perhaps I should have begun my search among soldiers then,” he mused. Gerulf rearranged his clothes. A log in the fire cracked sharply.

“Armas showed you the contract? You understood it?”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“I have interest only in those who will serve me when I need them, and stay out of my way otherwise. Armas likes to romanticise what I seek to employ as a ‘companion’, but truly what I want is a reliable sexual partner. I realise it may seem odd to you, but I want to know that the person whose body will be serving me is talented and clean, and also that they understand and are used to my preferences. You follow all of this?”

“Yes, your Majesty.” He understood perfectly; his personality was of no matter. Not entirely unexpected, but the fact that the Prince was so open about his requirements was a surprise.

“Tell me, what size are you?”

Gerulf raised his eyebrows at that, then held up one hand and spread out his fingers. “As long as my hand span, your Majesty.”

“No, not the length, the breadth. The girth.”

Gerulf pressed the tip of his middle finger to the pad of his thumb and held up the resulting circle for inspection. The Prince subjected his hand to the same blank-faced study as he had the scar tissue. Then he nodded.

“I will return shortly. Please stay here.”

Gerulf rose at the same time as the Prince, waited until he had left the room, then sat again. That had possibly been the oddest interview of his life, certainly the briefest. So, sex was purely commerce here. No emotional attachment, no personal familiarity. Just sexual gratification, and then what? Stay out of the way? At the prospective rate of pay, he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be that bad.

What the hell was he even thinking? Most likely, that miserable bastard Armas was going to be the next person through that door, telling him that the Prince wasn’t interested, that he was taking him back to Veisgarten and the taverns. The man probably thought he was some worthless drunk, when nearly all he’d done for the last fifteen damned months was work and work and hunt for more work…

The door opened again, and Gerulf was so convinced that it would be Armas, he didn’t get to his feet for several seconds. The Prince looked at him consideringly, then nodded to himself and came further into the room. He had changed his clothes, the suit having been replaced with a brocade trimmed robe. His feet were bare and pale.

“I am finding it difficult to choose,” the Prince announced, coolly. “I would like, if you are amenable, to try something to assist my decision. As I have said, I am a particular man, and need to know that my desires will be properly served. Thus I would like to trial you.”

Gerulf felt his eyebrows go up again. He studied the Prince, who was completely unabashed, and wondered if he could actually feel desire for this strange, cold man. The answer was unreservedly yes. The handsome face and sleek figure would have done it, even if the voice hadn’t. He wanted to shatter the ice in that voice and turn it into screams.

“I see, your Majesty,” he replied, amazing himself with how calm he sounded.

“All those that I have previously interviewed have, if I felt they had potential, been asked to perform this same service. You may decline and will be compensated for your time and taken home. Or you may…perform.”