Swan Prince

The Swan Prince

By: Delilah deSora

Chapter 4







Kent attended his lessons the next day, unable to meet his tutor’s eyes as he slouched in his chair. Ryhan acted as though nothing had happened and did not pressure him into speaking of the night before, for which Kent was grateful. When he returned to his rooms to change for court he found that the healers had returned his companion. From the doorway he could see Odel was asleep. He was shirtless and on his stomach, thick bandages wrapping about his chest to hold the soft cloth in place over the welts.



He closed his eyes and retreated to his own room, changing into an outfit far too bright for his mood before allowing himself to be rushed to the throne room where he stood silently at his father’s side. He received a single, measuring look, which he met impassively before his father’s attention was diverted to other things. When business was finished the doors to the dining rooms were open and people moved through, talking among themselves both for pleasure and for profit.



Kent excused himself then, ignoring is father’s angry look as he turned . To. To his surprise when he returned to his rooms Odel was awake, worrying a blanket between his hands as he watched the expensive water clock that dripped away the time on the mantle. Kent felt his stomach clench.



“I’m . . . sorry.” He whispered.



Odel jumped a bit, startled, his blue eyes wide. “Oh! You shouldn’t be back yet,” he picked at the coarse weave of the blanket wrapped about his legs, “Are you feeling well?”



Kent shrugged. “Well enough. You needn’t have waited up for me. You should be in bed before you . . . hurt something.”



Odel smiled. “I think I already did. Something tore when I got out of bed but its better now. Besides, I wanted to wait.”



“Are you angry with me?” Kent asked suddenly.



Odel cocked his head. “No.”



Kent grimaced. “Why? How could you not be angry after . . . all this.”



Odel made to shrug but winced and slowly lowered his shoulders. “I wish you had told me that you went out, the woods are so dark at night and I don’t like to think of you by yourself lost in them but . . . I know that there must be a reason for you not to tell me and, though I don’t understand it, I accept it. There was something you had to do. Who am I to gainsay you?”



The Prince shook his head. “You’re the one to be punished for it. I think that gives you a lot of say in the matter.”



Odel made a small sound, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Kent shook his head, moving by him to change out of the hot stiff clothes. When he returned Odel was still sitting on the couch, waiting for his return. He sat behind him, hesitantly touching his companion’s back.



“Does it hurt?”



“Some. It’s not so bad if I don’t try to move much.” Odel replied.



Kent drew back his companion’s long hair, plaiting it as he had once done to make little leather bracelets and necklaces that children were so fond of. They fell silent for a long while before Odel spoke again.



“Who is Atol?”



His fingers stilled as his heart raced in his chest at the sound of the name. “No one.” He murmured.



“But he must be important for you to go to him . . .”



“Do not speak of it again!” Kent shouted, flinging the plait from his hands as he stood. He immediately felt ashamed of himself as Odel’s head bowed, long lashes lowering over his eyes.



In confused anger he whirled and retreated to his room, slamming the door shut behind him.







The next morning the sun seemed obscenely cheerful as he laid in bed, his eyes dry and tired from weeping at his own stupidity. His muscles ached and his throat burned as he pushed himself up. He felt like a fool, shouting as though he were some spoiled brat at someone who simply sought to understand the world around him.



“Maybe we aren’t different you and I, father.” He murmured, dragging himself out of bed.



He leaned heavily in the doorway earning a worrying look from one of the servants. He waved her over and asked that she send word to Ryhan that he was too ill to attend him today before returning to his own bed. As he expected his tutor appeared a few minutes later, studying him with a practiced eye. The older man offered to bring the lesson to him but he refused.



“Besides,” he replied, “Odel shouldn’t be moved and we’re getting too far ahead of him. How will he catch up?”



Ryhan had hesitantly agreed and allowed himself to be dismissed for the day.



It was nearly midday when his father finally came to check on him, gruffly admitting that perhaps he was as ill as he pretended to be before also taking his leave. The servants came and went and Kent asked to be left alone until dinner, complaining that he could not sleep with so many people moving about his rooms. They too dispersed and he breathed a bit easier without their presence.



He found Odel lying on his stomach in bed, frowning over a book that he and Ryhan had went over the day before. He reached out and snatched it away, smiling as his companion tried to retrieve it.



“Come now, this is hardly a good way to relax and let the body heal itself.” He chided gently, setting the book aside.



“Ryhan said you were ill, should you be up? Wouldn’t you feel better lying down?” Odel protested, gingerly pushing himself up.



“Wallowing in self pity isn’t going to help. Come on, fresh air will do us both good. If you’re up to it.”



Odel nodded, smiling to prove that he was. He needed help getting dressed for any bit of stretching made him hiss in pain as it pulled at the welts on his back. Arm in arm they slipped away, though Odel briefly lost his smile when he noticed the guard in the hall.



“Won’t your father be angry?” He whispered.



Kent shook his head. “We’re just going to the pond. No grove of trees or wild things to eat us there. Besides, if he complains too much I’ll bully one of the healers into agreeing that a bit of fresh air and sun was all we needed.”



Odel laughed softly as they began the trek down the manicured lawn to their destination.



As he had hoped his sharp eyes made out a white form floating peacefully on the pond. “There!” He said, pointing to it. “You see? I did not lie!”



Odel laughed. “I never said you did.”



They sat down on the soft grass, watching the swan as it watched them. Kent searched but saw no sign of its mate. “Oh well,” he murmured, “one is better than none, yes?”



His companion smiled. “I’m sure the other is lurking about somewhere in the bush. It’s probably watching us while the other distracts us. If we were to try to harm the one we see the other would be sure to appear to help it. However, I am content to let them be. I only need to see one to know the other is there as well.”



Kent’s hand tightened about Odel’s. “I’m sorry for yelling at you last night. It just startled me to hear his name spoken by someone else.”



“Would you speak of him now?” Odel asked, his voice soft.



He shook his head. “I . . . I don’t want to talk about him. He isn’t someone to . . . just . . . don’t speak of it anymore, okay? My father’s right. To speak of him gives him power.”



“But to not speak of him, to pretend he does not exist gives him even more power. How can you stop him if no one knows of him, of what he does to you?”



He sighed, staring out across the water. “He is a plague on my family. His very presence tears us apart. If there is a way to fight him I must discover it on my own. I cannot blame my father for turning a blind eye to him. If I could I would do so as well.”



“Is there nothing I can do?” Odel asked, placing his right hand over the hands that held his left.



Kent shook his head. “No. We’re not like the swans out there. You cannot protect me from the evil that lurks just beyond the banks.”



Odel’s blue eyes were sad and Kent found himself transfixed by them. Before he could stop himself he leaned forward, meeting soft lips with his own. When the desire that suddenly welled up within him threatened to make the kiss more than a gentle meeting of lips he pulled away, ashamed.



“Come,” he murmured, helping his companion to his feet, “we should head back.”







Odel stared into the darkness, some trick of his ears making sound as though it were breathing. With the curtains baring the stars and moon he felt as though he were lost. So he listened, waiting for the sound that he knew would come, the one that would give him direction. For a long time all he heard was the gentle dripping of the water clock, but still he lay awake, staring into nothing.



Finally there was a new sound. He sat up as he heard a door open and close. A form, darker than the surrounding night, passed by his door. He counted the five steps from his door to the other and the moment he heard it open and close he flung off the blankets, ignoring the pain in his back as he stood.



It had been nearly two weeks since his Prince had been caught in his nocturnal wanderings and he couldn’t have said what exactly had caused him to suspect that tonight would be the night but he had suspected it nonetheless. Kent had shown no signs of planning this, had even scheduled an early morning for them both. However, something had just seemed off to him and when Kent had decided to call it an early evening his suspicion had grown.



He stepped into the hall, gasping at the sight of the guard there. He stammered an excuse but the guard said nothing, did not even move. Frowning Odel reached out and hesitantly touched his cheek only to find the skin cold and hard.



As though he were a statue.



Swallowing his fear Odel ran lightly after his prince, knowing somehow that he was heading towards the garden and the forest that lay beyond.







“Kent?” Odel whispered, hesitantly approaching the kneeling figure. He gasped as he noticed dark blood running down pale fingers that gripped a thistlethorn, a knife glinted in the moonlight as the man hacked at the stalk.



The hunched figure turned, an annoyed look on the sharp features. Odel shook off his fear and took a few steps forward. “You shouldn’t touch those, surely that hurts!”



He received no reply and the man turned, gathering something in a small bag at his feet before standing.



“Kent?” Odel asked, his trepidation returning. “Why are you digging up the herbalist’s garden?”



The man’s head lifted as he stepped towards him. “It is not he digging it up tonight, foolish one.”



It took Odel a moment to realize that the white in the man’s hair was from the moonlight shining off black locks. He gasped and backed away, drawing his arms against his chest. “Where is he?” He asked.



The man paused, as though considering his words. “I cannot say. Somewhere in the darkness, I am sure.”



“He should come back.” Odel whispered.



The man laughed. “He will not come to this place, not while I am here. He is not . . . fond of my company. He does not like to hear my voice. It disturbs him.”



“Then I must go to him, if you would just tell me where . . .”



He was silenced as the man moved towards him, long fingers reaching out. Odel found himself frozen, transfixed by the man’s grey eyes. He panted in fear as the man’s hand slid over his cheek, down his neck and back up to cup his chin. He tried desperately to pull away but the man’s smile, full of dark promise, left his body as stiff as one of the statues that surrounded them.



Despite his frozen body his mind still obeyed and he managed to push a name past frozen lips.



“Atol.”



The man paused, as though tasting the sound of the name on the air. The smile deepened as he paced about his captive, his hand coming to rest on the back of Odel’s neck where he could feel his prey’s trembling against the palm of his hand.



“Indeed,” he tilted his head in acknowledgment, “So they do speak of me. I had thought they would have forbidden my name passing from anyone’s lips.”



Odel frowned as some of the tension left his body though he still could not pull away from the cold touch. “I have heard it only once but they have found other ways of speaking without naming you. They . . . they fear you.”



Atol laughed finishing his circle to stand before Odel again. “They should.” He whispered, leaning in until their lips where a breath apart. “I know you as well, pretty one,” he continued, his breath surprisingly warm against Odel’s lips.



“How?” Odel asked, more than a little breathless.



Atol pulled back just far enough for grey eyes to meet blue, bringing up his other hand to trap Odel’s face from both sides before sliding them over his neck and shoulders. “I know everything Kent does. I see all he sees, I know all he knows. I feel all that he feels.”



Odel blinked and stared up at him. “You look like him.” He whispered.



Atol grinned, baring white teeth. “I should.”



Odel’s gaze fixed on the necklace the man wore, frowning as he recognized the rampant lion that hung from the silver chain. “This is Kent’s! I have seen it. It is his family’s crest. And these clothes, I know them! They are only for the prince! How did you come by them?”



Atol shrugged. “What is his by birth is mine. It is my due, though some would try to deny my existence.”



Odel cried out as Atol’s fingers hooked into claws and racked over his back, making the welts they passed over burn and forcing his mind away from the mystery before him. Atol watched him through narrowed eyes, his lips parted as he studied the man in his arms. “Yes,” he hissed, “so lovely.”



Atol caught Odel’s hair with one hand, pulling harshly when Odel tried to lower his chin as the pain subsided. Sharp teeth grazed his neck and he gasped in surprise as the arm about his waist forced him tight against Atol’s lower stomach. He squirmed, managing to bring his hands between them to try to push the other man off of him.



He felt Atol’s breath against his ear and he shivered as something wet ran over the sensitive skin below it. “Do you know what you look like, shining in the darkness is your white clothes with your silver hair so wild about your face? Do you know what you resemble with your white arms fluttering against the unmovable darkness and long neck stretched out as the night swallows your pain?”



The hand in his hair tightened, pulling his head all the way back. “Stop!” He pleaded.



“I think not, my little swan. Kent was right. You do drive one to distraction.”



Odel cried out in surprise as he was shoved to the ground. Atol stood before him and he crawled back, too afraid to scramble to his feet. Something wrapped about his wrist, tangling his hand and he tried to pull free of it. It tightened and he hissed in pain as something sank into the vulnerable skin. He tore his eyes away from the dark man before him to the ground beside him and whimpered as something slithered in the grass, wrapping about his trapped wrist and climbing up his arm.



When he tried to pry it off with his free hand the vine split and struck out, wrapping about his other wrist. Thorns bit into his wrists when he tried to stand. He was suddenly aware of Atol’s laughter and he shrank back as the man stepped towards him. Atol’s fingers brushed through his hair as he struggled before tightening in the hair at the crown of his head and shoving him back against the ground. His back arched in pain as the vines about his wrists snapped back, dragging his hands over his head. Something wrapped about his neck and he froze, waiting for it to tighten and choke the life out of him.



He closed his eyes tightly, trying to be strong. “I’m sorry, Kent.” He whispered as thorns pricked his throat. To his surprise all movement suddenly stopped and hesitantly he opened his eyes.



Atol knelt over him, studying him silently for a long moment. “Did you think I would kill you?” He asked suddenly, his voice holding a tremor of amusement to it.



Odel blinked in confusion as Atol reached out, tracing a finger down his prey’s chest.



“I’m not above killing, mind you, but I’m not wasteful either. It serves no purpose to kill you right now. Besides,” Atol’s tone turned to annoyance, “my ‘better half’ is getting more adept at fighting me. I’m not stupid enough to give him a martyr to strengthen his conviction.”



“Release me then!” Odel demanded, twisting a bit despite the pain the thorns caused.



The dark smile returned and Odel cried out as the sorcerer began undoing the tie at his waist that held his shirt closed. “I will. After I’ve given us both what we want, my little swan.”



“What?” Odel asked in horror as the sorcerer’s knees spread wider and he slid down until he was half lying atop of him. He lowered his face and Odel gasped as a hot mouth touched his chest. He squirmed, choking as the vines about his neck tightened warningly.



Atol watched his swan struggle to lie still as he lapped at a pale nipple. He grinned against his prize as the man collapsed gently back to the ground, blue eyes staring up at the night sky. He bit lightly at the nub, catching it between his teeth and twisting until they bey beneath him shuddered and Odel begged him to stop. He relented, turning his attention to its mate and bringing it to a hard point with teeth and sharp nails.



Sitting up he ground against the other man’s pelvis, earning a ragged cry of surprise from Odel. He sighed and shook his head. “As pure as your prince strives to be, I see. Disgusting. If you won’t take care of your desires on your own I’ll just have to see to them myself.”



He drew his hand over the soft flat stomach, watching the play of emotions across Odel’s face as he neared the waist of the flimsly pants he wore. The moment his fingers touched the ties he saw the narrow chest rise with a sudden intake of breath and tightened his hands. The vines tightened in response and the cry died in Odel’s throat as thorns bit into him.



“None of that now,” he admonished, roughly tearing the knot loose. “There are dark things that prowl the night. A cry such as that would bring them down upon us and, as desirable as you are, swanling, I’m not above leaving you to them. Lie still and quiet and you’ll make it through this yet.”



“What are you doing? What do you want?” Odel pleaded, his voice ragged with frustration and fear.



Atol smirked and slow slid the cloth over his prey’s narrow hips, kissing the prominent bone and the soft flesh on the inside of his thigh, earning an involuntary jerk of surprise. “I want to see you writhe, pretty one. I want to hear your voice grow ragged and I want to drive the power of speech from your mind until you are nothing more than a captured creature of the wild. I want to see tears your eyes. You are beautiful in your pain, swanling, and I think you are strong enough to endure all I want to do to you, but for now I will settor lor letting it be desire that reduces you so. It will not always be so but now is not the time to be thinking of the future, my pet. Now is for giving you a taste of the primal pleasures your petty priests and foolish morals would try to deny you. Relax and open yourself to the night. It hurts less if you just let it flow through you.”



Odel felt a hand on his most private of places and gasped, closing his eyes as it stroked over the silken member. He shuddered at the sensations it caused, trying to ignore the tightening low on his body. The moment a hot mouth closed over his member, however, he knew he was lost. A tongue danced over the bottom of his desire and he keened, tossing his head back. Thorns bit into his neck but the vines had slackened and it was only a little pain amidst the sea of pleasure Atol’s administrations to that area of his body was causing.



Hands cupped the flesh that hung beneath it and, as Atol had wished, he writhed, trying to get away from those hands and that mouth but trying to get closer at the same time. Atol raised his hips, a hand squeezing his ass as he groaned. It made his wounded back press harder against the ground and he gasped, for it hurt but the hurt only heightened his pleasure. The sorcerer let his member slip from his mouth and laughed quietly.



“Tell me, my pet, did it make you hard when you were pushed against that table? When you were forced to submit to the whip’s sharp kiss?”



Odel shuddered. “No.” He whispered truthfully.



“Ah, but what if it had been another? What if it had been your dear prince forcing you over that table? Can you see it, my pet? Dear Kent demanding your humiliation, your . . . submission?”



That word sent shivers through him and Odel couldn’t stop the moan that escaped him. His cheeks burned as the sorcerer laughed. Atol returned to his ministrations and the shame was chased from his mind as he tossed his head back and forth, trying to find a release he didn’t understand. He felt a finger scratching at his entrance and he shuddered, unaware that he had instinctively parted his legs.



The sensitive head of his cock struck his stomach as it slipped from Atol’s lips. He was given firm strokes as the finger beneath penetrated him, coaxing his body to open.



“And what of now? What if your prince were to see you now? Submitting to something he considers one of the creatures of the night, his most hated enemy? Can you imagine what he would say seeing you like this, legs spread like a wanton thing? He would surely be displeased. Do you think he would turn you over the table himself then? Ah but what would he think when he saw your body stir at the punishment? Would you beg him then to take you, pet? Would you beg him to give you the release you need?”



Odel panted shaking his head. “Please stop!” he pleaded, “This is wrong but . . . oh please finish it! I cannot live . . .”



Atol laughed and ran sharp nails over his prey’s shaft, making Odel buck and impale himself fully, cutting off his words with a grunt. “Just remember, my little swan, it was you who begged for this in the darkest part of the night. There is no going back from here. You are my creature now and you will come when I call.”



Odel’s eyes opened and he stared down in resignation as the sorcerer removed his clothes and pulled him up onto his lap. “Do you need this too?” He asked quietly.



Atol paused, considering the question. “Yes, I suppose I do.” He admitted.



Odel nodded and let his head fall back, staring up at the bits of light scattered throughout the connecting darkness as the sorcerer took his pleasure. A rythem played over his body, shaking him to the core and waking something that thrummed in time. Atol’s body sang to him with each thrust and his body, in turn, sang back. When he thought he could go on no longer his spirit seemed to burst and all he saw was a brilliant light.