Running the Gauntlet

Running the Gauntlet


(p r o l o g u e)



Thwack!

Thwack!

Thwack!



The slim, deadly arrows hit the targets in succession with frightening accuracy. Each reddened tip was now firmly embedded a good two inches into the centre of the target. From a bird's eye view, there were rows upon rows of soldiers standing in the field, stiff backed and alert. The training field was centered near the edge of the forest adjacent to the keep, and the two tallest towers of the castle could be made out rising above the tree line. The sun had risen not moments before, and the continuous firing of the ceremonial arrows welcomed the new year in typical military style.

A trumpet sounded, loud and clear in the still morning air, and the final row of soldiers finished firing and stepped back to allow the General passage. Al wrinkled his nose as the tall, striking man, fully clad in military regalia, came into view. As the ceremony was more festive than anything else, he had not worn his usual armor, but rather a deep burgundy cape over the leather, accented by a heavy set sapphire that glinted from its position at the base of his throat. As he stalked to the front and a sharp clop of his heel had the soldiers instantly clamoring for their bows. Al snorted softly at this blatant display of superiority and nimbly weaved through the ranks of soldiers until he found the one he was looking for.

“Ach.” he murmured and snickered softly at the way the soldier tensed as he slid his arms around his waist and rocked forward before burying his face into his neck.

He glanced surreptitiously from underneath his lashes at the soldiers surrounding them and was pleased to note that while all eyes were trained ahead on the General, all ears were focused intently on them. He pressed his cheek against the soldier's, but when he got no response other than the convulsive clenching and unclenching of the soldier’s hand on his bow, he lifted himself onto his tiptoes and licked a slick wet swipe from the bottom of his jaw to the tip of his ear.

“Prince Aldred!” his name was hissed from between the soldier’s clenched teeth and caused Al to inwardly grin in victory.

He leaned forward, putting all of his weight on his toes so he could see the soldier’s face, and nearly laughed out loud in glee at the despair he saw etched there. The soldier’s naturally plush, inviting mouth was drawn tight in frustration and his eyes were shifting, but fixed straight ahead, determined in refusing to flicker in Al’s direction even once.

“Ach, Ranulf,” he drew out the last syllable of the soldier’s name, well aware that his voice was a high pitched whine that would undoubtedly grate on his lover’s ears, “I was waiting for you yesterday, you know. You promised we'd spend the last night of the year together. I waited for you until the moon waned, all cold and lonely in my bed…”

He had done no such thing, of course. There were scores of men lining up to get a taste of him, and while he had been hoping to spend the night being pleased by Ranulf's talented tongue, he was certainly not going to waste the most potent night of the year waiting for a low rank soldier.

Sliding his hands lazily over the soldier's armor-clad chest and gently nudging his hips with his own, he watched with malicious satisfaction as Ranulf swallowed convulsively and shifted his weight uneasily before licking his lips. His eyes were no longer fixed ahead, instead flickering rapidly from side to side as if trying to gauge the reactions of his fellow soldiers, though their stony masks revealed nothing. He heard the Prince sigh softy in his ear and afraid that he would open his mouth to reveal even more of their liaison, decided to deter him as quietly as possible.

“I-I was… perhaps we should talk of this later, Al—“

“And what talk would that be?” a smooth, heavy voice, coming from a man like the stone he was named after, caused Ranulf’s head to jerk up so hard Al was almost disappointed when it didn't snap clean off.

“S-Sir,” the soldier's normally baritone had morphed itself into something more resembling a squeak. He made the mistake of looking up at the General in his surprise, and instantly cringed as he was met with the full, compelling force behind his icy blue gaze. The man he was cowering before lifted an eyebrow in questioning, but the set of his jaw clearly expressed that he was no longer interested in any sort of explanation.

“Do tell. I’m sure we’re all waiting with bated breath to hear about your little rendezvous, aren’t we?”

The sharpness of his voice and the tilt of his chin indicated that that wasn’t a question, but a command. A low chorus of ‘Yes, Sir!’s was heard. Ranulf’s face had turned ruddy, and a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. He had only been a part of the Legion for three seasons, and had never before been confronted by the General as he was now. Actually, he hadn't even seen the General up close before now.

It was a known fact that the man currently standing before him was the King's second in command; the man behind the runnings of the Kingdom, so to speak. He rarely went about the ranks conversing with soldiers. Ranulf silently cursed himself for being charmed so easily by the flirtatious Prince that had currently trapped him in such an immovable fix.

The General leaned forward almost imperceptibly, nostrils flared in irritation at Ranulf's lack of response. “That was an order, soldier.” he rumbled. Ranulf blinked rapidly and opened his dry mouth slowly before snapping it shut with a click. He knew what the punishment for disobeying a direct order from a superior was, and from the General himself... but he also knew in excruciating detail what would happen to him if he publicly announced his, even admittedly rather short-lasting, relationship with the Prince of Aregisel. He swallowed the lump in his throat and was about to risk looking up at the imposing General once again when all of his muscles contracted and he sucked in a sharp gasp as the aforementioned Prince leaned into him further and pressed his lips to his ear, his hot, moist breath making his skin prickle.

“Learned your lesson, Ranulf?" Al hissed into his ear, "Don’t ever again presume to think that you’re good enough to stand up a Prince.”

A loud, wet kiss was smacked onto his cheek before the heat that was draped across his back pulled away. Ranulf turned halfway enough to see the Prince toss his head in a decidedly arrogant manner before turning on his heel and walking away without taking a second glance at the dumbfounded Ranulf nor meeting the hard gaze of the General.

t b c ?

A/N: So... something a bit new from me. This idea basically got up in my face and bitch slapped me. I've always been a little gaga over the Medieval Period, and this story is going to be (loosely) based on that. I first posted it on FictionPress a while ago, but realised I wanted there to be a lot of sex in this one, and that probably wouldn't go over so well. So I decided to post it here, but I'm still unsure about whether or not I want to continue it.

Leave me feedback if you want to see more!

Much love,

Ella.