Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He’d done it. True, he was the furthest things from a portrait-perfect slave at the court, and for that he knew he’d pay dearly. Breaking form. Appearing weak. Letting the blissful, appropriately vapid smile slip from his lips as the twirling flames drew near. When they were replaced with the wispy ribbons of fading smoke, he couldn’t help but tear up in relief. He didn’t cry, though, and at that point he deemed it a daunting enough task to count as a great feat.

He’d survived yet another Veretian test. He’d done it.

Prince Torveld, the newcomer, had been kind to him, refraining from criticizing his poor show—though it was just as likely that he didn’t wish to shame Prince Laurent’s Akielon gifts in the presence of esteemed company—deigning to touch his head, summoning him to sit at his side for the remainder of court. Though still deeply shaken, Erasmus resolved to be as portrait-perfect as he possibly could, kissing Prince Torveld’s leg in gratitude, feeding him the finest bites from the table, staying as still and pliant as possible. Erasmus received a tiny onyx charm in response. He didn’t wear jewelry, but he accepted the token with grace, acutely aware of the Patran’s wish to follow Veretian customs.

It was Erasmus’s first token.

Upon the conclusion of court, Erasmus was led away from Princes Torveld and Laurent, pets Nicaise and Damen. The servant pulling him along remained mute as they went, letting his timid inquiry about his next whereabouts drift behind him in the hall. They passed a dormant dining area, then a lounge room, taking a set of stairs downward before stopping in front of the entrance to the baths.

Of course, Erasmus realized as the servant bid her leave. The new prince had taken a strange interest in him. His services would be required tonight.

He pressed a hand to his heart, trying to steady the frantic thumping. He could do this. He’d managed to face fire without dashing away in fear, even in front of an audience. This is what they’d prepared him for. To pleasure the Exalted—but since he was no longer an inhabitant of their world, another prince would certainly make use of Erasmus’s excellent-yet-unfinished training.

So why did it feel like he’d been clobbered by the hoof of a stallion?

There were only two other slaves in the baths, two waifish Veretian girls on the other side of the marble expanse. They cleaned themselves without speaking. Erasmus hadn’t seen them before, and doubted they would understand his Akielon tongue, so he slipped into the rightmost pool. The water was scalding against his pearl-white body, bleaching it a startling red, but he pretended not to notice. Erasmus worked to scrub the feeling of the unnamed courtier’s insistent hands out of his skin.

Highly sought-after. A prized possession.

On days like these, Erasmus felt anything but.

Hair was lathered with lavender soap and limbs hastily anointed with sweet emollients, standard procedure for any slave heading off to their First Night. But, Erasmus thought as he reached for the final substance, Prince Torveld would be in for a nasty surprise. It wasn’t going to be his First Night. Or his second, or his third, for that matter. Not even close.

Erasmus tried not to think about it as he applied the oil to his entrance. But it was hard not to. He could feel the puckered ridges of his ring, freshly violated thanks to that urgent courtier earlier today. Sitting on the edge of the bath, his mind drifted to the coming hours. Would Prince Torveld be gentle, like Lord Levin? Erasmus could hardly dare to hope for cooed words like that of the lord when he yanked him in an alcove for relief. Or maybe rough, like Govart? One’s modus operandi couldn’t be gleaned from a simple pat of the head, but Erasmus couldn’t help but hope the prince’s tender touch meant he would be uninterested in kicking his legs open and taking him roughshod like the Regent’s brutish guardsman.

When he was done in the baths, Erasmus wandered back to the slaves’ quarters. The twenty-four Akielons had dwindled to a mere eight, with most of his compatriots presumably serving the Patran guests for the night. Erasmus supposed the number would diminish to seven.

He practiced his kithara in wait. All the Akielon songs fit for slaves to perform had been perfected already; he ran through his scales before returning to the new piece he was composing. It was a secret song of the heart, one without words, and he knew Kallias had found his way into it. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t forget his dearest friend. His confidant. His unrequited love.

With a sigh, the kithara was returned to the countertop. It was time to think of the service he was to perform tonight.

Just as he thought, the servant appeared to summon him an hour later. She was all ebony locks and graceful gestures and midnight skin, a beautiful woman if there ever was one. Erasmus supposed he’d be attracted to her if not for his lack of taste for women.

Wordlessly, the pair made their way up to the third floor. The usual creatures of the night passed them by—researchers, guardsmen, night servants. Erasmus tried to be brave as they approached the royal guest quarters. This was not a death march. But his heart didn’t seem to get the message.

The door was unlocked, the slave ushered inside. Erasmus instantly took inventory of his surroundings, clutching the onyx charm tightly in his fist. Prince Torveld’s antechamber wasn’t a mess, which wasn’t surprising given his status. He probably slept in this unit and did little else. Still, the dining table could use a nice dusting, the sofa further in needed fluffing, and the bookshelf surely had to be rearranged. So Erasmus busied himself, trying and failing to ignore the unlit fireplace to his right. That could be dealt with later. Unfortunately, nights in Vere were crisp, even in the summer.

When all that could be tidied was, Erasmus ventured deeper into the unit. To the right of the couch was the entrance to the private bath, a relatively small rotunda that was still elegant beyond compare. He ensured that the proper oils and soaps were presented in an aesthetically pleasing fashion, and that the water in the bath was just the right temperature. Erasmus didn’t know how this particular prince liked his water, so he did his best.

And then he waited. Now his heartbeat was in his throat, threatening to leap straight out of his mouth. It would be all right. It had to be. And if it wasn’t…Erasmus shuddered. Perhaps being demoted wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The door clicked open. Laughter faded in the hallway. Erasmus tightened his posture, assuming the proper position for a pleasure slave when greeting their master in the evening. The marble floor of the antechamber was cool against his knees, which wasn’t all that bothersome. Better than fire, at least.

Prince Torveld swept into the room. It took him a second to notice Erasmus on the floor ten paces in front of him, but when he did, his already jovial face broke into a bigger smile.

Breathe in, breathe out. Sensual movements. Remember your phrases.

“Erasmus, right?”

He bowed deeply, his forehead briefly pressing against the floor. It wasn’t yet time to speak.

The prince closed the door, and the click sent a jolt through Erasmus’s heart. He didn’t break form. Running a hand through his full head of chestnut hair, Prince Torveld remained five paces away. “I hope you didn’t think I’d forgotten you. It’d be hard to forget such a beautiful creature.”

“This slave is grateful for your praise, Your Highness.”

Prince Torveld clucked at that but refrained from elaborating further. Instead, he walked past Erasmus deeper into the antechamber. The woosh of air told him his master for the night had taken a seat on the couch. He remained kneeling. The key to being a good slave was to follow instructions to a tee. Only speaking when spoken to. Only moving when ordered.

“You’re not going to remain there, are you?” The prince sounded incredulous.

His behavior was rather odd for a master, but Erasmus didn’t question it. Without turning, he said, “His Highness has not yet directed this slave.”

“Is that all? Well then, come join me on the couch.”

Erasmus rose then, trying to keep the shakes out of his legs. His knees ached a little, but he distanced himself from the pain as he moved toward the prince. In the candlelight, the lines of age were pronounced in some areas and smoothed away in others. The scruffy beard on his jaw and the impressive head of hair leaned more copper than brown. And of course, those searching silver eyes were set alight with gold. Prince Torveld was handsome, to say the least. Knowing what was to come, Erasmus almost wished he wasn’t.

He settled in next to the prince as gracefully as possible, folding his limbs in a way that seemed casual yet dared the intrigued eye to search for more. Erasmus couldn’t quite meet his eyes—that was a no-go in Vere—so he settled on the prince’s sumptuous lips. It wasn’t forward for a pleasure slave to do so in private chambers.

It seemed as though Prince Torveld was waiting for Erasmus to speak, but the slave held firm. Finally, letting out a sigh, the prince spoke. “I know nothing about you, other than that you’re from Akielos and that you hate fire. Seems like poor form to jump right into things without getting to know who I’m bedding.”

Erasmus wondered if the prince often made small talk before getting intimate with a new lover. Then he flushed, wiping the silly question from his brain. He wasn’t a lover. He was a slave, and a bad one at that. “This slave lives to serve.” The rote phrase left his mouth as easily as warmed butter. No good slave selfishly monopolized the conversation by talking about their backstory.

Silence. Erasmus’s heartbeat was practically audible. He parted his lips just so, let his golden locks hang prettily around his face, looking up at the prince through his long lashes.

The move had never failed him till now, and Erasmus felt smug as he watched him cave. Prince Torveld leaned in closer, his lips hanging barely an inch from Erasmus’s, his hand gaining purchase on the fabric covering the slave’s soft hip. His breath was surprisingly sweet-smelling, like mint. Only the stars knew how many of Erasmus’s suitors disoriented him with their rancid, putrid pants.

The prince’s hands slowly slinked up Erasmus’s lithe body, following the folds and bends of his tunic, coming to a quick stop at his chest. His fingers brushed past his nipple quickly, stopping the breath right in Erasmus’s throat. He tried to suppress the panic welling up in his core, tried to keep form. Thankfully, Prince Torveld didn’t notice.

And then his hand met Erasmus’s neck, and it was all over.

“Erasmus?” The prince paused, blessedly, mercifully. “Are you okay?”

The slave looked down. Stared at the hand that had firmly grabbed the prince’s, holding it safely away from his neck. Realized the gravity of what he’d done.

He wouldn’t cry. By the stars, he wouldn’t.

Erasmus shrank back into the pillows under the intense gaze of the prince. He wondered if Patrans cut off the offending limbs of insolent slaves, like they did in Imetsca. Patras was somewhat like Akielos, but what if slave treatment differed? Erasmus knew he couldn’t be a good slave with only one hand.

It occurred to him then that he should actually let go. Gently, Erasmus eased his vice-like grip and lowered his eyes. Waited for rage like a ceaseless fire.

“I won’t hurt you,” Prince Torveld breathed. Erasmus dared not decipher his tone. The prince drew back, letting his hand fall. “I know something has happened to you, and I intend to find out.”

Erasmus’s breath went ragged.

“Will you tell me?”

What was there to tell, really? His memory was a flurry of cast-aside tunics in a rainbow of colors and crass grunts. Stinging muscles, wet thighs. Erasmus had never been more aware of his slave status than he was in Vere, not even at the height of his training back home. But after refusing the prince’s advances, even laying an unwanted hand on him, the last thing he wanted to do was disobey another order.

Yet, if he knew he was tainted…

“This slave is sorry—this slave begs for your forgiveness, though he is not worthy of it.” There wasn’t enough room to prostrate himself, so he studied the cushions instead. His face burned.

A pause. Then, “Forgiveness for what? You were simply protecting yourself. Think nothing of it.”

“This slave has failed His Highness. This slave was trained to please you.”

“Erasmus,” Prince Torveld said, his name an exasperated sigh. “I don’t take pleasure in taking a frightened, unwilling slave.”

Unwilling? The word cut savagely into Erasmus’s heart, bringing the warning sting of tears to the corner of his eyes. “Please, Your Highness. This slave lives to serve you. This slave will do as you desire.”

Though his heart wasn’t in it, Erasmus broke from the cushions and leaned into the prince. Nuzzled the cozy place between his neck and shoulder with his nose. Ran a hand down the prince’s firm, toned abdomen, one that shook, but only just. Prince Torveld was breathtakingly handsome. Erasmus knew he’d be flattered and pleased by the prince’s advances in another world, one where he wasn’t—

“Erasmus, please.” The prince pulled away, sending Erasmus falling into the cushions. His eyes were filled with something heavy. Worry. “I don’t mean to accuse you of anything. But have you been—”

A sob broke from Erasmus’s throat. He couldn’t bear to hear the prince say it. He didn’t want to have to lie or deny. He was used, worthless, broken. Not fit to look at the departed prince Damianos, let alone serve him.

This time, when the prince moved to touch him—a gentle caress on his arm, not a sensual rub—Erasmus let him. He cried openly now, too far gone to worry about protocol. How easily he let go of what little self-worth he had left! How quick he was to throw himself at the prince, fearing he had fallen out of favor!

Erasmus wanted to feel safe, craved it desperately.

“I feel as though an embrace might do you some good,” Prince Torveld said tentatively. “I swear to you I will not touch you in any unwanted fashion. It will be chaste. But if you desire it, I would like to embrace you.”

“Please,” Erasmus whispered, his voice fragile and tragic. He couldn’t get the rest of the words out.

The prince took that as his way of consenting. Warm, sturdy arms encircled Erasmus’s trembling form, still hesitant. Then Prince Torveld pulled the slave to his chest. And Erasmus found that he couldn’t resist—and strangely, he didn’t want to. He let himself unravel in the prince’s arms, ugly sobs and all.  Prince Torveld rubbed the achy space between his shoulder blades, murmuring words Erasmus couldn’t quite make out. He knew Patran quite well, and yet these words were a mystery to him. But as his tears subsided, he found that he quite liked how they fell from his master’s mouth and nestled in his hair and shoulders.

“This slave…” Erasmus began, but he didn’t know how to finish the sentence. None of the stock submission phrases fit.

Prince Torveld gently quieted him. “You need rest. It’s late. A hunting party begins early tomorrow morning, and I intend on speaking with you in some capacity before then.”

The knot reformed in Erasmus’s stomach, but it wasn’t as tight as before. Prince Torveld’s tenderness succeeded in assuaging a few of his fears. He wouldn’t be taken tonight, whether gently or roughly. He could sleep without feeling the pangs of an aching, violated entrance. That was more than he could dream of lately.

Erasmus fought the prince’s attempts to settle him into bed. The tunic was nearly discarded by his master before it was revealed that Erasmus preferred to sleep clothed in Vere. He insisted, though with the adequate slave phrasing, that he could climb into bed without being carried. And he kept inquiring about the matter of his master’s clothing, even as his traitorous eyelids fluttered closed with the weight of sleep.

Chapter Text

When Erasmus woke, it was too bright to be appropriate. Usually he rose with the sun, ready to assist with activities that got the castle running. He certainly never spent the morning lounging in a stranger’s bed. Prince Torveld was gone, no doubt making the final preparations for the hunt.

Erasmus quickly tumbled out of bed, catching his foot in the mess of covers near the foot. He was clothed just as last night, and his entrance felt just as yesterday. No one had used him overnight. That was an improvement.

Prince Torveld crossed from the bathing room to the bedroom, using a cloth to dry his damp hair and decidedly not preparing for the hunt. Erasmus reddened. Today was supposed to be a fresh start, and he was already slacking on duties.

Erasmus prostrated himself in bed, trying to become one with the covers. “Please forgive this delinquent slave, Your Highness. I—this slave will gather provisions for breaking fast posthaste.” He gritted his teeth, waiting for an admonition to follow.

But one didn’t come. Instead, a soothing hand came to rest on his shoulder. “Rise, Erasmus. You had a terrible day yesterday. Please, do not fear.”

He obeyed, keeping form on his knees but evaluating the prince in a new light. He hadn’t cast him away for grabbing his hand. He helped Erasmus into bed and didn’t violate him through the night into the morning. And now he was excusing his failure to perform his morning duties. What kind of a prince was his master?

Prince Torveld’s light eyes were filled with concern. Even then, Erasmus couldn’t help but be taken in by the promise of a defined jaw under his virile beard, the strong lines that comprised his exposed shoulders, chest, and arms. Erasmus estimated that he was early into his forties, but it was hard to imagine him any older than thirty-five.

“If you feel ready, I’d like to talk about some things,” Prince Torveld started, bringing the flush back to Erasmus’s face.

He wasn’t ready. He would never be ready. He nodded.

The prince released his hand from Erasmus’s shoulder and twisted it into the bedsheets. He swallowed hard, looking unsure of where to begin. “The last thing I want to do is cause you more distress. I know of the burns on your thigh, but the slave Damen made me aware that other…things may have happened to you.”

Breathe in, breathe out.

“Do you feel unsafe with me?”

Erasmus was surprised by how heartbroken Prince Torveld sounded. It was as if the thought of Erasmus fearing him was almost too much to bear. He wasn’t sure how that was possible, since they’d only met the night before, but Erasmus felt it in his bones. There was a certain fear in any master-slave partnership, he supposed. One was always at the mercy of the other. Yet Erasmus had never truly felt afraid to enter the service of Damianos Exalted. Excited, yes. Nervous, maybe. But not like he’d come to feel in Vere, a place of secrets and treachery and violation.

“This slave is yours,” Erasmus finally replied, but even he had trouble believing it.

Before he had even finished speaking, the prince began shaking his head. “Please, Erasmus. The truth. Speak freely.”

There was no way to speak freely as a slave. But if Prince Torveld, a man Erasmus was beginning to view as kind, wanted him to do so, then who was he to refuse an order? “This sla—I don’t know what to think,” he began, his voice soft as the sheets he was resting upon. “Vere is filled with confusing masters. Akielon training did not warn about the things I have faced here.” He stopped, unsure of if he could carry on being bold. The prince nodded, urging him to continue. “This slave lives to serve, but he would also appreciate a master who was kind, and gentle, and didn’t take him so forcefully—” His voice broke.

He wasn’t crying, but he shook like gelatin. That was a victory. Prince Torveld opened his arms, but Erasmus didn’t need to be beckoned. He collapsed against the prince, his hands tightly clutching his firm back. There was something relieving about his embraces, something comforting. Erasmus didn’t feel safe, not yet, but this was the closest thing to safety he’d felt since leaving Akielos.

“All the Akielon slaves have been treated disgracefully,” Prince Torveld said. His rich baritone rolled through Erasmus’s body in waves. “But you have received more abuse than I’ve ever encountered. I didn’t tell you last night, but my party and I have struck a deal with Vere. All of you will be coming back to Patras with us. Permanently.”

Every iota of Erasmus froze in time.

“Patrans value slaves, just like they do in Akielos. They don’t abuse them like Veretians. They are protected. I promise you, no one will lay an unwanted hand on you or any of your compatriots.”

And then time started again, and a lone tear trickled down Erasmus’s face. He hadn’t let himself dare to dream since their arrival. He’d resigned himself to a life of disappointment. He hardly even remembered the details of his ongoing violations, preferring to disassociate while the events occurred. But Prince Torveld had given him a lifeline, one thin like a string but strong enough to pull him and the others out of the hole they were in.

Erasmus tilted his head up, locking eyes with the prince. His face was a beautiful sight now, one that didn’t spark fear quite like before. He pressed a chaste kiss to Prince Torveld’s ruddy cheek. It was the only way he could express his gratitude for now.

The prince looked startled, like he was denying himself hope as well. “Erasmus, you don’t have to do that if you don’t feel comfortable—”

“This slave desired it,” he replied quietly.

“Oh.” Prince Torveld’s face was unreadable. “Well. The other slaves will stay within my court upon arrival to Patras, though I’m sure my brother will be interested in pairing them off to various high-ranking officials. We’ll take care of any wounds, physical or mental, and make sure they get settled in before making any plans.”

Erasmus nodded, wondering where he fit into such an arrangement.

“As for you…” It seemed as though the prince was holding him tighter. “I had hoped that you would become my personal companion.”

There was that flush again, though it was less of a burn and more of a pretty pinkening. Serving a prince? Erasmus didn’t think it was possible after being sent away from Akielos. Prince Laurent didn’t take slaves such as himself. And he was tainted, ruined beyond compare.

Yet, if Prince Torveld wanted him…

The prince smiled. Erasmus could see the nerves etched in the lines of his face. “You’re very beautiful, Erasmus. I don’t recall ever meeting anyone as lovely as you. I hope, in time, that you will be able to trust me, because there is nothing I want more than the honor of being served by you.”

“This slave lives to serve,” Erasmus murmured, barely believing his fortune.

“I’m serious,” Prince Torveld said, his eyes searching the slave’s face. “I aim to treasure you. Spoil you rotten. Cherish you. When you are with me, life won’t be a series of riddles. Our pleasure and happiness will be paramount. Not mine. Ours.”

Spurred on by a sudden surge of boldness, Erasmus cupped the side of Prince Torveld’s face and kissed him. He didn’t know how to kiss; his previous training consisted of watching others do so and being startled by Kallias. But the prince was undoubtedly experienced. He didn’t press too hard like his former friend, nor did he sensualize the kiss like the actors in training. He was simply passionate, tasting like mint, feeling like heaven.

If this was what it was like to serve the prince, Erasmus desired to be his companion.

Eventually, Prince Torveld pulled back, sending a pang through Erasmus’s heart. His eyes were kind and the aged lines around them made him look cheerful. “That’s a yes, then?”

“This slave does as he is told. He is honored to serve His Highness.” Erasmus fought the urge to touch his own puffy lips.

“Not ‘His Highness’. No titles, please.” The prince pressed his lips to Erasmus’s forehead, his beard tickling his cheek. “When we’re together, you can call me by my name. Torveld.”

Erasmus nodded. “Then this slave is honored to serve Torveld.”

“Oh, dear,” said Torveld. “We’ll have to work on that.”

His fingers began to tingle, a clear sign that he should be worried. Erasmus wracked his mind, trying to figure out the precise point he went wrong. “Has this slave displeased you?”

The prince looked confused for a moment. “Hm? No, why would—Erasmus, I simply meant that you should feel comfortable with speaking freely in my presence. There’s no need for rote phrases or debasing yourself by referring to yourself in the third person. Slaves in Patras don’t do such a thing.”

Erasmus bowed his head, cursing himself for burdening his master. “I shall do better.”

“Look at me,” Torveld said. Erasmus was too ashamed to do so. A calloused finger rested under his chin and guided his head back up. Torveld didn’t seem mad. Far from it. “There’s no need to scorn yourself. You have been conditioned in a very particular way. Breaking free from that training will take some time. But I believe you can do it.”

A knock came at the door to the antechamber. Torveld groaned, releasing his hold on Erasmus. “I suppose the hunt is about to start. Would you like to join me? If you’re not feeling well enough to travel, you may stay here.”

Remaining in the room, all alone with his thoughts? That seemed like hell to Erasmus. He shook his head, clamoring out of bed. “I will go with you, sire. Who else shall attend to you there?”

Torveld chucked. “Possessive already, hm?”

Erasmus had forgotten himself. Of course, the prince was free to seek out the services of any slave he desired. Being his personal companion didn’t give him sole right to Torveld. “I apologize—I didn’t mean—”

“Relax, my dear. My comment was in jest.” Torveld smiled again, but there was a hint of something else behind it. Erasmus couldn’t understand what it was. Then he took to the floor. “We’d better hurry. Prince Laurent doesn’t like to be kept waiting, it seems.”

Chapter Text

The next few days passed by in a blur. Erasmus served his master well at the hunt, making sure the food and drinks flowed without a hitch and the older man’s muscles were adequately massaged. He sat a bit closer when other slaves were around, unable to stop himself from nonverbally staking what little claim he had. By the end of the week, the Patran party had cleared out of Arles and were on their way back to their home country. Erasmus’s nerves ran wild even as he put on a brave face. At twenty-five, Akielos and Vere were the only two nations he’d ever known. Patras, his new home, was a daunting prospect.

A large ship waited in the harbor to take the party home. Erasmus marveled at the gleaming wooden hull, the skyscraping masts, the billowing sails. He had no memory of how his first ship looked. Nausea brewed deep in his belly as the party boarded, and he reached out and took his friend Narsis’s hand. Narsis gave him a sympathetic smile.

The trip across the sea, thankfully, was uneventful. Prince Torveld was far too busy with his men to require Erasmus’s services, so the blond slave remained in the slave quarters with his compatriots. A few more people were afraid of sailing than last time, haunted by the memories of the trip to Vere. They traded stories, sang soulful songs from home, and held each other close. Erasmus played diplomat, relaying all the information he’d received from the prince and assuring his friends that no harm was to come to them in Patras. They were all relieved. Vere had been the worst kind of hell.

As it happened, Erasmus and Torveld didn’t cross paths until the ship docked at Jakai. The slaves were ushered out of the quarters, out on the deck, down the ladder and into the caravan. But Erasmus was stopped before he could follow Narsis inside.

“You’re riding with His Highness,” said the servant who’d pulled him aside. He pointed to their right.

Erasmus turned to look. Around them, guardsmen were readying horses for the ride ahead. A powerful-looking black stallion stood at attention, barely moving as two servants saddled and reigned it. That must have been Prince Torveld’s steed. Slowly, Erasmus trekked toward it, trying to keep himself calm. He hadn’t the faintest idea how to ride. He wouldn’t even know where to start. But he’d try, for Torveld.

He reached out a tentative hand and stroked the stallion’s thick mane. It felt rough and scratchy against his soft fingers. The horse snorted, making him jump. If only there was someone around to help him mount it…

“He won’t bite, you know,” said a deep voice. Torveld.

As gracefully as possible, Erasmus spun around and gave a deep bow. “Your Highness. Forgive me for not registering your presence.”

Torveld took his hand, sending warm rivulets up Erasmus’s arm. He quite liked the feeling. “My dear, I know we haven’t seen each other in a fortnight, but there’s no need to resort to formalities.”

The prince’s relaxed grin made his heart flutter. Erasmus blushed, trying to find the right words. It was said that absence made the heart grow fonder. Erasmus was inclined to agree. “I am honored to be in your presence again. I was worried…” His words trailed off. He didn’t want to forget himself again. But he couldn’t deny that the fear of the prince tiring of him struck him hard during the journey.

“Worried about what? That I’d forgotten about you?” Torveld closed the space between them. He stroked Erasmus’s flushed cheek with his thumb. “I could never forget about you. I was regrettably occupied for the entire duration of our journey. My apologies for not checking up on you. Was your time on the ship troubling?”

Erasmus shook his head, smiling shyly. “All the slaves are fine, ready for our new life in Patras. We’re very grateful for your generous lodgings.”

“All the same, I think I would have preferred it if you were with me in my room.” Torveld paused, studying him. “Do you feel similarly?”

“This slave—” Erasmus was cut off by Torveld’s raised eyebrow. “I mean, I think I would have liked that, too.” His blush deepened. Never in his life had he been asked so many personal questions.

Torveld’s smile rivaled the sun. “While there’s no need to feel embarrassed, I must admit I’ve quickly come to adore your pretty blush.” Erasmus’s heart melted at the compliment. “I don’t intend on letting you slip through my fingers now that I have you. If we’re apart, and you wish to see me, you can come and find me.”

Then Torveld helped Erasmus mount the stallion. Erasmus successfully refrained from shouting in fear as he wobbled his way up into the saddle. All the slaves had been given riding clothes to wear for the land journey, just in case the caravan malfunctioned and they needed to double up with the guardsmen. The feeling of cotton in between his thighs was strange. He much preferred tunics and chitons. Torveld settled in behind him with ease. With strong legs on either side of him, a sturdy torso at his back, and formidable arms holding him tight, Erasmus lost his fear of falling off. He felt cared for. Safe.

They cleared out minutes later, abandoning the port town’s main road for a beaten path into the woods. Erasmus admired the shades of green running together as the stallion—Rhys, Torveld told him—found his stride. They couldn’t go too fast on account of the caravan, but their pace was speedy enough that Erasmus’s heart began to race. The party had docked midafternoon and were now journeying to the resting place Torveld and his men chose for the night.

Without being coaxed, Erasmus timidly ventured one question about Patras. One turned into two, two into three, and soon the slave and the prince were engaging in free-flowing conversation. Torveld was easy to talk to, Erasmus found. He was bright, witty at the right times, and seemed to value Erasmus’s opinion. When the questions switched sides, and Erasmus found himself being asked about Akielos, he didn’t feel selfish. It was exciting to be able to tell his new master about his old life.

“Sounds like you really miss your home,” Torveld said after a while.

Erasmus sighed, the ache of homesickness pulsing like a second heartbeat in his chest. “I do, sire. I miss some of my old friends. I miss the familiarity of the palace. I even miss my lessons sometimes.” Then he stopped, remembering his present situation. He couldn’t be ungrateful. “But I’m happy to be of service wherever I am directed.”

It almost felt like the prince wanted to say something more, but no words came. The pair fell into a comfortable silence as the world darkened around them. The campsite loomed up ahead, spacious enough to host an entire army regiment.

“We’ll stop here,” Torveld called out when they’d reached it. He dismounted from Rhys before offering a hand to Erasmus. Grateful for his help, Erasmus took it and gingerly got off the stallion.

The party erupted in a flurry of activity. Servants, guardsmen, and slaves alike worked to pitch a sufficient camp as the last dregs of daylight disappeared behind the distant trees. Erasmus wandered around, trying to be useful, but every person he came across took one look at him before shooing him away. Erasmus knew he was a bit delicate, but surely he could learn to pitch the leg of a tent, or at least collect firewood. He doubled back to Rhys and busied himself with removing Torveld’s belongings that were hooked onto the saddle.

“What are you doing?” said a female voice behind him.

Erasmus turned, giving her a sheepish bow. A servant with cropped dark hair looked at him, puzzled. “This slave was only trying to gather the prince’s—”

She held up a hand, shutting him up. “Never mind that. It’s my job to take care of the horse. You just focus on your duties.”

He swallowed. “I confess I am not certain what those duties are. I’ve never set up camp.”

Her laughter made his face burn in shame. She grinned in the darkness, leading him away from Rhys. “Personal companions usually just get their master’s food. The traveling cook should already be whipping up the evening meal by now. Go and see him.”

Erasmus followed the servant’s directive, steering clear of the big bonfire being assembled in the middle of the camp. The cook, a plump man with a permanent smile fixed to his face, commissioned Erasmus and a few of the other slaves to prepare ingredients and ration the food. Torveld was in a meeting tent with his advisors, so Erasmus helped bring food for the other party members while he waited for his master to reappear.

When it was clear the meeting was running late, Erasmus arranged a plate for himself. Taking the two rations of food in his hands, he searched for a comfortable place to sit. All the seats were laid out near the fire; party members and slaves alike congregated around the roaring flames, laughing and gossiping. Erasmus had no great desire to be seized by another fit of panic. He hoped his master didn’t have an affinity for heat.

Erasmus had just finished his meal when the flap to the meeting tent opened. The prince’s men streamed out toward the fire, eventually followed by the prince himself. He didn’t seem to notice Erasmus sitting near the sleeping tents.

He stared into the flames, trying to build up courage. How bad could it be, really, to sit near the fire? It crackled and hissed like a vicious animal, and yet none of the others seemed afraid of it. Erasmus wanted to be brave. He hated being skittish. But even the thought of getting close made the puckered lines on his thigh sting with renewed vigor. He hung his head. Torveld was going to tire of him quickly, he just knew it.

“There you are.”

Erasmus didn’t lift his head.

He could feel Torveld lowering himself to the ground next to him. A warm, firm presence appeared against Erasmus’s arm. “Tell me what’s troubling you.”

He remained silent, but his head lifted so he could stare into the nearby bonfire. In the corner of his eye, he could see Torveld following his gaze.

“Ah. That.” Torveld gently bumped Erasmus’s shoulder. “Not a fan of open flame either, to be quite honest. This seems like a perfect place to sit.”

Erasmus didn’t know if he was stretching the truth, but he decided he didn’t care. Torveld’s mercy was a blessing.

“Did you eat?”

Gesturing to the empty plate beside him, Erasmus nodded. “I have your food here, too. It might have cooled—I can get another—”

Prince Torveld picked up the plate like a commoner. “No need.” Erasmus’s eyes widened. His prince took notice, chuckling at the slave’s strange expression. “What’s the matter?”

“I, well…” Erasmus’s hands itched to pluck the plate from Torveld’s hands. “You’re supposed to be fed.”

“Is that what they taught you in Akielos?”

“Yes.” Erasmus was so scandalized he’d left off his customary honorific.

Just like in the antechamber back in Vere, the flames gave Torveld’s silver eyes a golden glow. “What do you desire? Don’t tell me what you’ve been trained to do.”

Erasmus’s mouth opened, then closed. He was a slave, taught to please his master in all things. But here was his new master giving him a choice. He could sit beside Torveld as he dined by himself, making casual conversation but remaining somewhat detached. Or he could feed Torveld, an intimate action that might bring them closer and keep him from sending Erasmus away.

Erasmus gently took the plate of food from Torveld, boldly meeting his master’s eyes. He leaned into him with the plate balanced in his lap. Then he broke off a piece of bread, the perfect size for chewing, and held it up to Torveld’s lips. Without breaking eye contact, Torveld accepted the gift. And the next one, and the one after that. Erasmus offered him a juicy scrap of meat; this time the prince took it in his mouth before pressing a faint kiss to Erasmus’s finger. Around them, people began to mill about, finishing the last of their meals and chatting about anything at all. The pair didn’t notice. Erasmus was lost in Torveld’s captivating presence.

Finally, the last of the food passed Torveld’s lips, and Erasmus continued to gaze at his prince. Tentatively, he cupped his jaw, gently stroking his food-softened lip. Something had changed between them, something he couldn’t quite grasp. All he knew was that he wanted Torveld. He felt it deep in his bones. He wanted to please his new master, make him delight in his presence.

“I don’t mind serving you,” Erasmus started. He took a deep breath. “I desire it. My time in Vere had jaded me, I fear. But that chapter of my life is closed. I was afraid of you that first night in your chambers. I know better now.”

Torveld’s hand slipped around Erasmus’s slight waist, pulling the young slave closer to his body. “Is this okay?” Erasmus nodded. “If I ever gave you a reason to fear me, I would never forgive myself. When I think about what those men did to you, I—” He clenched his jaw, appearing to fight against the rage that suddenly welled up in him. “I don’t know many details, but you deserve so much greater than what has been given to you. I won’t lie and say I’m not awfully attracted to you, but you need to heal from all that has happened. That can’t happen if I am all over you.”

Erasmus tightened his own hold on Torveld, gripped with alarm. “Please don’t send me away, Your Highness! I can be better. I will work night and day to be better. This slave is sorry for being so weak—”

“Oh, darling, I didn’t mean—please don’t cry,” Torveld whispered into his ear as tears began to flow down Erasmus’s cheeks. “I should have chosen my words more carefully. I’m not sending you away. Far from it. There is nothing you need to apologize for.”

“I want to serve you, sire. No one else has shown me such kindness.”

“And I want you to serve me, my dear. The thought of you in the companionship of another master…I don’t think I could bear it.” Torveld pressed soft kisses against Erasmus’s forehead, calming him down. “What I meant to say is that as much as we desire to have each other, I believe it is important that we wait for some time. I intend on giving you the First Night that was cruelly taken away from you.” At the thought of being with Torveld, Erasmus blushed. “Does that sound better?”

Erasmus was so relieved he almost began to shed fresh tears. He was safe. He was secure. Torveld still wanted him. But to have a real First Night…he wanted one so badly, but he knew Torveld’s attempt wasn’t enough. “I am used, sire. I have been torn.”

“I know that. Those men will be hunted down and made to pay for what they did to you.”

“But I am ruined. Worthless. There are others who are worthy of being taken by you.”

He didn’t cry again, but his throat ached as if he had. Torveld looked disappointed, sending waves of embarrassment through Erasmus’s tired body once more. “You are not ruined or worthless. You’re perfect as you are. It is I who is unsure if I am worthy of taking you.”

“I am but a lowly slave,” Erasmus said, unsure of his master’s logic. How could a prince be unworthy of someone who was made to serve him?

“There is great honor in service,” Torveld reminded him. And Erasmus wondered how he had managed to forget.

Chapter Text

They remained joined in a tender embrace until the fire started burning itself out. Torveld suggested they turn in for the night, to which Erasmus happily agreed. He avoided the curious eyes of those around them as they made their way to the prince’s tent. Surely, there’d be gossip about what Prince Torveld and his new companion would do to pass the time in the dead of night. They’d be wrong, of course, but Erasmus still felt shy about the prospect of rumors.

Inside the tent, a pallet waited for them behind a curtain. Erasmus could see it was stacked high with blankets. A low table stood off to the side in the makeshift antechamber. Presumably, that was where Prince Torveld would attend to his royal duties in the mornings and evenings. As Torveld examined some of the papers on the table, Erasmus slipped through the curtains to make their bed. On this side of the sea, nights weren’t nearly as cold as they were back in Vere. Erasmus discarded a few sets of blankets before awkwardly standing by the pallet.

Torveld entered the sleeping area after a few minutes. He yawned and stretched before looking at Erasmus. “You wish to sleep standing up?”

“You hadn’t finished your nightly duties,” Erasmus said, trying not to sound like it was obvious. “Sire.”

“That shouldn’t keep you from sleeping. My bed is yours.” Torveld raked a hand through his hair. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Erasmus flushed red then, wondering how he was going to broach the subject without sounding suggestive. Akielon slaves undressed their masters before bed, whether or not activities were going to follow afterwards. And though he had been directed to consider his own wants and needs, Erasmus found he quite liked that tradition. He’d only managed to see the upper part of his master’s body. He craved even more.

“Erasmus?”

He dipped his head. “I assumed you would allow me to undress you for the night.”

“Is that so?” Torveld flashed him a mischievous smile, and it occurred to Erasmus that his prince was all too aware of this custom.

Since Torveld was inexplicably interested in hearing about Erasmus’s desires, he decided to tell the truth. “It would please me greatly to undress you, Torveld.”

His rare use of the prince’s given name had its intended effect—Torveld’s quick mouth fell open. Erasmus crossed the small tent room and reached for the laces of his master’s tunic, only to be stopped by his hand.

“You can do so under one condition,” Torveld said. Erasmus waited. “I would like to reciprocate.”

He blinked. As much as he wanted to undress his handsome master, Erasmus was afraid that being undressed would lead to the prince being unable to fulfill his promise of a true First Night. Erasmus was a highly irresistible creature, after all. He attracted male and female attention anywhere he went. He saw himself being pressed down against the pallet blankets, vulnerable and ready to be taken just like old times. The thought stole his breath.

He dropped his hand.

Instantly, Torveld took it. “Please, my dear, don’t fret. I won’t so much as touch you without ensuring you desire it. I need you to trust me with your body.”

Slowly, Erasmus nodded. He could deal with that. He was strong enough to handle this. The laces of Torveld’s tunic were undone quickly. Erasmus thanked Lady Fortune that Patrans were not enamored with the art of intricate tying like those in Vere. He could feel Torveld’s heartbeat thudding against his fingertips. It was rather fast for an experienced prince. Torveld’s top was shed quickly, leaving his riding pants on his bottom half. Erasmus bent down and began to work at the waist tie, trying not to stare at what he knew was on the other side. When the string came loose, the pants slipped down Torveld’s legs and gathered at his feet. He stepped out of them and Erasmus brushed them aside.

His master was everything he’d dreamed of. Strong, toned thighs fuzzy to the touch, a firm abdomen that glistened gold in the candlelight, enticing chest hair that Erasmus longed to touch. And, of course, a mouthwatering, commanding member nestled among a seat of chestnut curls. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from it. Torveld’s cock was thick and pink and long, not too long to be unwieldy, but a size Erasmus couldn’t help imagining giving delicious pleasure. Erasmus longed to kneel at Torveld’s feet forever. Like a magnet, Erasmus drew himself forward and lightly kissed Torveld’s inner thigh.

“Erasmus,” Torveld started, his voice faltering.

Another kiss, this time in the crease between his hip and his leg. There he found a curious scar, pinky length and faded from time. He moved to caress the other crease, faintly brushing his nose against Torveld’s hardening cock as he went. Erasmus found he quite liked the piney, heady musk.

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to—”

“I desire you, sire,” Erasmus whispered, blushing like a schoolgirl. “To pleasure someone as handsome as you would bring me great honor.”

Torveld dropped to his knees then, bunching up Erasmus’s chiton in his hands and pressing his lips to his. There was a certain fire to it, one filled with lust and longing. Erasmus moaned quietly against Torveld. He tried to match his master’s intensity, peeking his tongue out when it felt appropriate and tasting his lips like it was his favorite sweet in the world. He found himself getting lost in Torveld. That was okay. He never wanted to leave.

Erasmus broke the kiss, gasping for air as delicately as possible. They were in a heap on the ground. “Master, please, this is of my own volition.”

“So I’ve gathered,” Torveld responded, chuckling softly. “I must admit, I was close to losing myself in your touch. You are much too tempting to resist.” He thumbed Erasmus’s soft lip, just as the slave had done earlier. “But we must rest soon. There will come a time when we can be lost in each other.”

Torveld helped Erasmus to his feet. He made quick work of the slave’s traveling tunic, undoing the simple buttons before casting it behind them. The uncomfortable riding pants were next, and soon Erasmus was as bare as his master. True to his words, Torveld never laid a stray hand on him.

Erasmus blushed under Torveld’s appreciative gaze. He watched as the older man followed the lines and curves of his lithe body, lingering on his chest and his own less impressive member.

“The gods are tempting me, I feel,” Torveld said when he’d found his voice. He cupped Erasmus’s cheek. “Every inch of you is a delight to look at. Tales of your beauty were not exaggerated—understated, in fact.”

“This slave is unworthy of your praise,” Erasmus said, slipping back into recitation.

Torveld shook his head. “It’s the opposite, my dear. You are worthy of much more than my praise. I promise I will do nothing more than this, but I long to touch and kiss you, only for a moment. Will you let me?”

Gooseflesh raised along Erasmus’s arms. He wanted nothing more than that, to be held and caressed and pleasured by such a handsome man. Erasmus nodded.

And Torveld bent down, locating Erasmus’s marred thigh, kissing his way up the first scar. Erasmus gasped. He tried to keep his leg still. It wasn’t pleasure so much as an ode to his body itself. His kisses weren’t chaste but told a tale of devotion and adoration. Torveld’s lips found the second scar, then the third. It was as if he was reassuring Erasmus that the scars, mental and physical, weren’t marks against him. Erasmus felt his heart swell. When he had finished, Torveld turned to the other thigh, kissed a small patch of skin there, and rose to his feet.

Erasmus’s lip trembled.

They settled in on the bed after that, neither one daring to let go of the other’s hand. Erasmus felt his scars tingling again—not in the harsh, sharp way they did before, but a nice, warm buzz. Torveld could hardly look away from him, captivated by all he saw. Erasmus never dreamed that he would one day long for the touch of another man after all he’d endured. And yet, here he was, lying next to a prince who promised him bliss beyond compare.

Erasmus reached out and traced his master’s cheekbone. They weren’t touching anymore, yet Erasmus longed to be cocooned by Torveld.

“You should sleep, darling.”

His ears warmed at the sound of the pet name. Erasmus was beginning to realize just how much he enjoyed being cherished by Torveld. “I am not used to sleeping by myself,” he said. He gave Torveld the most pointed look he could muster, which he knew wasn’t very firm at all.

Thankfully, Torveld took the hint. The prince reached out, hooking an arm around his waist, and pulled Erasmus flush against his body. Everything touched—their chests, their knees, their hips. Erasmus flipped so he faced the wall of the tent. He was acutely aware of the hard presence pressing against the curve of his rear.

“My apologies,” he offered, heart racing. “I must be causing you a bit of excitement. You can touch me if you desire.”

Torveld laughed. “Erasmus, I am a grown man. I can handle close proximity to someone I long for.”

“Oh.” Erasmus flushed. He was easy now, a slave who craved his master’s touch at every moment. “But sire, I think it might be helpful for you to touch me.”

“Helpful for you?”

“Yes.” And Erasmus pressed his lips together, hoping he wouldn’t have to elaborate further.

Torveld took the hint. Erasmus felt soft lips at the base of his shoulder, lightly caressing his skin before creeping up his neck. The warm rivulets were back, this time flowing down his spine and rendering his body limp. Torveld’s warm, wet tongue made an appearance—oh, how Erasmus was beginning to love that tongue—painting pictures on the slave’s exposed throat.

Erasmus’s eyes fluttered shut. “It feels…quite nice when you do that.”

He could feel Torveld’s low chuckle in his bones. “Then I shall do it more often.”

The hand draped across his torso began to rub circles into his abdomen. Back and forth it went until Erasmus was hypnotized by the rhythm. Then Torveld’s hand slid upwards, ghosting over his ribs and stopping at the upper part of his chest. Erasmus held his breath as Torveld’s fingers found the flesh around his right nipple. Massaged the muscle, teased it. There were the faint echoes of panic in his mind, but they were just that—echoes. Erasmus was safe in Torveld’s arms. He would be treated with honor, not crassly manhandled.

The prince’s warm finger stroked the tender flesh of his nipple, causing Erasmus to gasp. His eyes flew open. Now Torveld was at his ear, licking and kissing and lightly nipping. A second finger soon followed. Erasmus guessed it was Torveld’s thumb.

“That feels good, doesn’t it?” Torveld whispered. His breath tickled his ear further.

A shiver shook Erasmus’s body. He was made to feel so many things at once. He couldn’t make sense of them all. “Yes, sire. Please—I want more.”

Seemingly unwilling to deny Erasmus even the smallest request, Torveld returned to his sensual touches and neck caresses. With one hand, he pushed Erasmus down, laying him flat, and swung a leg over his body. Erasmus was boxed in between the pallet and Torveld’s furnace-like body.

Torveld paused, pulling back. Though the candlelight was much too low at this point to see anything clearly, Erasmus could sense worry in his gaze. “Does this position cause you stress?”

Erasmus pressed a hand to his chest, trying to slow down his breathing. “This slave—I, I mean—you can continue.”

His prince didn’t seem convinced, but Erasmus felt good enough to proceed. He repeated himself, this time more clearly, and Torveld’s worry lessened. Instead of resuming his quest to kiss every inch of skin on Erasmus’s neck, he gave him a kiss deep enough to take his breath away almost instantly. The kisses trailed downwards, pausing at his collarbone for a minute before continuing on to his stimulated nipple.

A quick, naughty lick was all it took to draw a hiss out of Erasmus. But Torveld was relentless—his tongue teased Erasmus until his nipple’s deep rosy hue could be seen even in the low light. Torveld’s hand found the other one and rubbed it simultaneously. This was paradise. It had to be.

“Sire, please,” Erasmus crooned as Torveld switched his oral attention to the slave’s left nipple. The movement had caused Torveld’s lower abdomen to brush against Erasmus’s hardened cock. A particularly wicked suck drew a moan out of Erasmus’s lips.

“What a lovely sound,” Torveld murmured.

Erasmus blinked, trying to focus. All he could think about now was that wonderful feeling building up inside. “Master,” he started again. “Torveld, I mean.”

“Mm?”

“Please forgive me for being selfish in indulging in this activity…” He bit his lips at the sight of Torveld pausing to look up at him. “My body is yours. If you wish to find pleasure with me, you need not hold back.”

Torveld smiled, but his brows were furrowed. “I don’t understand. Am I not doing so?”

Erasmus’s face burned. He was doing his best to speak his mind, but it never felt like enough. “Yes, and I am enjoying this very much. But I am a pleasure slave—I have no delusions about my place. I was taught that most masters wish to have their slaves serve them in some way. I don’t believe I have done so.”

“Erasmus…” Torveld sighed. “Do you remember what I said to you in Vere? About what I considered to be paramount?”

He could never forget. “You said ‘our pleasure’.”

“Exactly. And I take great pleasure in giving you pleasure. It is not selfish to want to feel sexual satisfaction. You deserve it.”

Erasmus nodded along, though it was hard to fight against what he had been taught.

Torveld grinned. “Now, is there anything else you would like me to do? Anything that does not involve turning tonight into your First Night?” Bashfully, Erasmus turned his head to the side, knowing his true feelings showed on his face.

“I—I’m not certain,” Erasmus said quietly. Torveld had already been so good to him. “This night has already been more than I’d ever dreamed.”

He watched Torveld lift himself up and gaze at his body, looking no less awestruck than before. Torveld’s eyes locked on Erasmus’s cock, by now fully hardened and drooling in anticipation. It twitched under the heat of Torveld’s gape. And Erasmus knew there was no way Torveld, a man who had just pledged himself to Erasmus’s desire, would let him sleep till morning so aroused.

Torveld lowered himself back on the bed, sitting beside Erasmus and taking the younger man into his arms. His lips found their way back to Erasmus’s ear; his right hand gently tracing the grooves of his knee.

“You’re as stiff and pink as anyone could get,” said Torveld, and though Erasmus had tried his best to deny his own wants, he knew it was true. “Are you not?”

Erasmus sighed at the sensation of a particularly splendid kiss at his jaw. “Yes, Master.” The breathy nature of his voice surprised him.

Torveld groaned at the sound. “And your balls?”

“Heavy and full, sire.”

“You must be desperate for relief.” Content with Erasmus’s honesty, he lifted his head from the slave’s neck. Torveld pulled back to look his companion in the eye. Erasmus’s breath quickened. He had never seen his master so aroused. “Sweetheart, I long to give you that relief. Please allow me to do so.”

Erasmus breathed through his mouth, trying to keep his emotions under control. No one had touched him in Vere except to torment him, either by staving off his own release or bringing it on to make him conflicted. Torveld’s offer to pleasure him for the sake of making him feel genuine happiness felt almost too good to be true, and yet he knew it wasn’t. He nodded and snuggled closer to Torveld.

“I need to hear you say it,” Torveld whispered.

For some reason, that pushed Erasmus even closer to the edge. His breath caught as Torveld’s hands began to wander at his hips. “You may touch me, now and whenever you wish to in the future.”

“Touch you how?”

Torveld was incorrigible. His devilish fingers slipped against the lines of his thighs and his pubic bone. Erasmus’s own fingers tingled. He longed to grab his master’s hand and place it in its correct spot himself. “By stroking my cock. Oh Master, please do so soon.” Desperate for Torveld to begin, Erasmus ran a hand down his broad chest.

“I will, darling,” Torveld said. “But I want to hear that lovely voice of yours as I do. And I want to see your pretty face as I bring you to completion.”

Erasmus nodded again. Torveld seemed content with his muted response; his fingers grazed the slaves burnished pubic hair before tracing a trail from the base of Erasmus’s cock to his tip. Erasmus shivered.

“Beautiful,” Torveld murmured. His thumb reached Erasmus’s slit before spreading his precum on the cock’s head. “So wet and hard for me, and all I had to do was tease those sensitive nipples.”

Torveld let go for a moment and reached down the side of the pallet. He produced a small tin, one Erasmus had only been acquainted with once before. His heart skipped a beat. But instead of applying it to his own member, Torveld took some of the traveling oil in his palm and grasped Erasmus again. He gave his companion a short, sweet kiss before slowly pumping his hand down Erasmus’s shaft. All was quiet. Then his movements quickened, and Erasmus whimpered.

He had never felt this way before. Erasmus wasn’t sure he could describe the experience with coherent words. Torveld gave meaning to an otherwise standard sexual activity. Every stroke was a promise of something greater.

“Oh, Torveld, yes,” Erasmus moaned as his master massaged his balls.

Torveld simply kissed his cheek in reply. There was a certain rhythm to his movement, one that Erasmus found himself losing track of as he was brought closer to the edge. Obedient to Torveld’s word, he let himself moan and cry out when his feelings inside bubbled over. At an incredibly delectable stroke, Erasmus pulled Torveld in for another kiss, determined to channel his energy elsewhere. When they broke for air, Erasmus was rendered speechless by the look in Torveld’s eyes.

“Are you close?” Torveld asked, not daring to look away. He continued to pump Erasmus’s cock like it was second nature. Erasmus bit his lip, rocking his hips back and forth to meet Torveld’s deft hand. Torveld chuckled. “I assume that is an affirmative.”

Torveld’s eyes never left Erasmus’s as he increased the speed of his stroking. Every gasp, every whine by Erasmus seemed to feed his hunger. Torveld held the slave even tighter as he approached his peak. Erasmus had experienced it before, though never on his own terms. But as he felt pleasure reaching every inch of his body, he realized this was a first, in a way. It was a new era for him, one where his needs were considered and his consent sought after. That, combined with the lustful look in Torveld’s eye that held the hint of something deeper, sent Erasmus over the edge.

He came with a strangled moan in his throat, spending himself on top of Torveld’s quick fingers. The gauzy fluid came in spurts, messily coating everything from their thighs to the blankets to a small patch of Erasmus’s own collarbone.

“My sweet angel,” Torveld whispered against his temple as Erasmus came down from his peak. Erasmus preened at the newest of his master’s pet names for him. He loved each and every one of them. “You’re so good. So aroused, so willing to cum for me…”

“You enjoyed it, then?” Erasmus asked cheekily once he’d caught his breath.

Torveld looked startled for a moment, then laughed when he realized Erasmus was joking. “Pleasuring you, watching your face as I drove you wild…” He shook his head. “My only wish is that I could taste your precious cock.”

“You can,” Erasmus quickly replied. He wanted to experience this again and again. “Tomorrow night, at the next campsite. That is, if you aren’t too exhausted from the journey.”

Torveld kissed his cheek. “Nothing could keep me from such a thing. When I taste you tomorrow, I’ll do my best to make you feel even better than you did today.”

Erasmus’s cock twitched at that, as if it was preparing for another round. He remembered the spot of cum on his collarbone and swiped at it with his thumb. With a mischievous-yet-nervous smile, he held his hand between them. Not challenging his master, but offering. Torveld took his hand in his own without a moment’s hesitation. He sucked and licked at Erasmus’s thumb until it was clean. He then brought his other hand to his lips, the one covered in Erasmus’s essence, and did the very same. Feeling bold after his incredible orgasm, Erasmus stuck his own tongue out and tasted himself on his master’s hand. It was a strange taste, one he’d never had before, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Quite the opposite, actually. Erasmus figured that of Torveld must be even sweeter to taste.

“Master—Torveld,” said Erasmus once they’d finished, his voice wavering. He tried to control it. If he wanted to do something in this new era, all he had to do was ask. “The thought of that makes me happy. But I’d also be happy serving you. More than happy. Just looking at your thick cock fills me with longing.”

Torveld’s grin was rather sheepish. “Believe me, I desire that as well. But it’s late now, and I’m sure you’re spent after tonight. Tomorrow you will have free reign over my body, I swear it.”

Erasmus nodded, blinking away the clouds of exhaustion that entered his vision. Torveld was right. As much as he longed to serve his master, they both needed to rest for the long journey ahead of them. He didn’t fight the prince’s insistence that he slept, even as he watched him procure a rag to clean up the mess Erasmus had made. The last thing he remembered was Torveld sliding back onto the pallet, holding him in his arms and stroking his summer-sun hair.