Page 13 of The Lionheart’s Bond (Bonds of Dusk and Dawn #1)

ISIDORE

The floor wobbled under his feet. Or maybe his legs were at fault, his knees unable to support him any longer.

The prince had said ‘show me,’ and Isidore had not understood what he meant by that. What did he want to see exactly?

The way he had come in, the way Judel had pulled him away from Helge and even turned on the captain, sword in hand, had frightened Isidore, and yet there was a tiny part of him that had lit up at the sight. It was impossible not to be impressed by Judel’s charisma. The excitement had been stronger than the fear, until he had heard Helge’s warning to the prince.

The captain’s face had been a mask of detachment even faced with the end of Judel’s sword. He spoke firmly, his voice not loud and yet powerful.

‘Your Highness should remember Master Isidore has only been practicing the basics. It's his first day and still recovering from his wounds.’

Judel’s hand had twitched around his wrist, and some of the tension in his shoulders had dropped. Only then Isidore realized Judel’s mood had been such that he had been in some danger of getting hurt.

But now the prince was no doubt going easy on him. At first, his brow had been tight, his jaw pressed firmly shut, but as they moved, the prince’s aggression had eased into playfulness. Judel shifted on his feet, hitting Isidore with the flat of his sword everywhere he could reach, chuckling every time.

‘Take a break,’ he said, seeing as Isidore struggled to remain standing.

Judel turned away from him and found Helge again. Their conversation was brief, with the captain bowing his head before reaching for a sword. Isidore sat down, leaning back against the wall behind him, and watched them spar.

The prince was a clever warrior as well as physically powerful. Isidore had seen enough duels and fights, back in Stonehollow, to know what he was looking at and he could recognize the prince’s skill. Swordmen his size tended to rely on their build. Judel would be expected to do the same. A man of his height and girth had an advantage and it would be the easiest thing to use it to overwhelm his opponents. He wouldn’t need to do anything else.

Judel wasn’t like that. He was observant, he held back, watched until he discovered his opponent’s weakness, then forced their defences open. He was patient and meticulous in his fighting. That mountain of a man was as flexible as a reed.

‘Why do you do that?’ Isidore asked when they finished.

‘Why do I do what?’

‘Toy with him.’

The corner of Judel’s mouth twitched; his eyes bright with a joy Isidore had never seen in the prince before.

‘I wasn’t toying with him.’

‘You could have rolled over him like a herd of bulls and he would have folded like a leaf,’ Isidore said, raising his eyebrows.

The prince’s loud laugh echoed in the room like a roar. Warmth spread across Isidore’s chest. That he was the one to trigger that reaction made him oddly proud.

‘You underestimate the Captain,’ Judel said. ‘And me! It is true that, one on one, I could end a fight quickly if I have the physical advantage.’ He nodded, his expression pensive. ‘But the day will come when I’ll face a bigger opponent than me. There are battles, too. It’s good to be prepared.’

‘Battles?’ Isidore tilted his head. Was there a difference? A fight was a fight.

‘Yes, battles, Master Isidore.’ He smiled. ‘Enemies are unlikely to come at you one by one during battles. Or to stop fighting you when you’re too tired. Physical superiority is certainly helpful, but relying on it is exhausting, and in war, you can’t run the risk of running out of steam halfway through. That’s how you die.’

Isidore nodded, eyes wide with admiration. He had never had any talent for fighting, with swords or anything else, or so his masters had repeatedly told him. So much so, he stopped paying attention to martial skills and preferred to turn to books and animals.

What would have happened if he had insisted with the Weapon’s Master back then? It had never occurred to him to switch to his left hand but if Helge had been able to see that in one day, shouldn’t his Weapon’s Master, who had seen him grow, know that much?

Helge was an extraordinary teacher. His suggestions on sword handling and posture had changed his entire perspective on swordsmanship and his potential skill. Of course, it hadn’t been a miracle ‘cure,’ he had not become a natural talent just because of a couple of improvements, but the use of a weapon had become less dauntingto him. It had become achievable. He found it easier to stay on his feet and to find his balance, something that had been near impossible before.

‘Another round?’ Judel offered.

Part of him wanted to say no. The part of him that was his knees and his hips and his shoulders. But his heart said yes, because this was a carefree, smiling, and even laughing side of the prince Isidore was enjoying too much. Who knew if or when he would get another chance?

While Helge had been a wonderful teacher, Judel was not quite the same. The prince struggled to explain his corrections and Helge often intervened to translate what the prince was trying to illustrate. Ilystra’s Weapon’s Master, who had watched them practice without interfering occasionally scoffed from the back of the room, while training a young man of long, dark hair.

Judel was, however, a great sparring partner. Even someone as green as Isidore could tell that much.

Later, Judel took Isidore’s sword out of his trembling fingers and put their weapons back on the rack. Isidore bent over, panting, hands on his knees. The exhaustion mixed with exhilaration, and he smiled as sweat poured down his face. There was a way for him to defend himself; there was something he could do. Maybe not well, but he wasn’t completely useless. Captain Helge had said as much. Actually, he had been much more complimentary, but it was no doubt out of politeness.

‘You must be tired now,’ Judel said. ‘Come, we’ll go to the baths and then I’ll take you back to your room.’

‘The baths?’

Judel nodded, smiling still.

It was hard to straighten up. Everything was sore, but it was a sort of pain he welcomed, a refreshing change from the aches of his wounds, or the stiffness from lying in bed all day. Moving around was liberating.

He followed Judel out of the armoury and through the castle’s lower floor, where servants bowed and curtsied as Judel passed. As quiet as the castle was during the day, it was much livelier in the evenings and now he knew about the curse, he understood. The place was virtually empty during the day, only busy when the princes returned home after the sunset.

They turned left into a narrow corridor and the air changed. Heavy with humidity here, it was hot. The corridor led to a wide chamber with a vaulted roof. A servant boy sat by the strangest hearth he had ever seen. The recess was deep and spanned the length of the room but was only tall enough to reach the boy’s knees. The wall above cried, water running from the cracks and gaps around large wooden pegs that plugged three holes in the stonework.

‘Is everything ready, Mattes?’

‘Yes, Your Highness,’ the boy replied. ‘Captain Helge ordered to prepare these two.’ He indicated two hollows in the stone floor. Raised wooden passageways seemed to float around the room, continuing through the centre, between the two rows of depressions, wide gaps between their planks. The indents in the floor looked as if the stone itself had been worn out into the perfect, almost tub-shaped gaps on the ground. But they were empty.

‘They’ve cleaned them and prepared oils to relieve our muscles,’ the prince explained, reading the confusion on his face.

‘But where is the water?’

‘You’ll see,’ the prince grinned, pulling his shirt over his head. It was a sign of how little of a challenge Isidore had been that Judel had not even broken a sweat during their sparring. Even fighting Helge didn’t seem to have made a dent in Judel’s stamina.

But such considerations were forgotten as Judel’s muscles wove together, contracted and stretched with every one of his movements, mesmerizing in every curve and dip of his body. Moving art. Isidore’s eyes drew the lines of each shape as if they were paths to a destination, only the destination was Judel’s hips as he began to remove his trousers, and it became imperative to look elsewhere. To force his eyes away was a task for heroes stronger than him, though, despite not being the first time he saw the prince naked. He turned his back on the spectacle and pulled his shirt over his head, trying to think of something else.

Turning his attention to the ugly wound on his shoulder should help him erase the images of Prince Judel’s naked body from his mind. He poked gently at the skin, red and fresh. It was healing well, but it would leave a scar. Prince Hina had said as much, in the tone of one saying he had sauce on his face or there was dust on the table. It hadn’t seemed important then, but now he’d rather be able to hide it and regretted accepting the bath.

Clothes off, he stood awkwardly, not daring look at the prince, his body tense and his imagination running riots.

Judel hadn’t said a word about what had happened between them the previous night. Just like when they had kissed before, the prince pretended it hadn’t happened. Did his daily transformations rob him of some of his memories? If so, it was doing it in a very selective manner.

He sighed.

‘Come on down,’ the prince said, making him jump. He had forgotten where he was.

The prince was already lying in the tub-like hole on the ground. He was stretched out, his legs crossed, his chest exposed, huge, his hands behind his head, arms bulging. It was hard to breathe.

It was even harder to keep his eyes from wandering.

‘Come on, or Mattes won’t be able to do his thing.’

Isidore jumped again, the third person in the room entirely forgotten. In a panic, he went into the bathtub too fast and almost tripped. He managed to catch himself before it was too late, though. A harsh hit on the head was the last thing he needed.

The stone was smooth under him and was so perfectly shaped to support his body it felt as if the surface couldn’t be solid, but flexible, to mould to him. It was unexpectedly comfortable.

‘Ready?’ the prince asked.

He wasn’t sure what he was meant to be ready for, but he nodded all the same.

The prince nodded to Mattes in turn. The boy grabbed a mace that had been resting against the wall an brought it down hard on the peg to the right, the one that lined up with them. The cork-shaped lump of wood flew across the floor and the water spurted out like a fountain. It ran clear, and steaming, rushing under the raised platforms and sipping through the gaps, until it filled Judel’s bath first, then his.

The water was scolding, just short of burning with any severity, and he screamed. But the initial shock passed quickly, replaced by a pleasant melting sensation. His muscles began to loosen.

‘Put a few drops of this into the water.’ The prince handed him a vial. ‘It’ll help your muscles.’

The room filled with the scent of lavender as the oil melted into the hot water but there was also a woodier, more earthy scent under it.

‘This is wonderful,’ he said, almost to himself, pushing his body deeper into the water.

‘It’s the best to ease all the tension,’ Judel nodded.

‘And muscle pain.’

Isidore expected a reply, but none came. When he turned to check on the prince, he found the man’s dark eyes staring at him. Their closeness startled him. If he stretched out his arm, he could have touched the prince’s shoulder.

‘How sore are you?’

‘I’ll be fine.’ He didn’t want to be any more of a burden than he already was.

Another silence settled between them. Isidore let his eyes wander on the surface of the water, the reflection of the flames from the oil lamps floating like ghost lights.

‘Come here,’ the prince said, his voice unusually deep.

‘What?’

‘Come here, I’ll rub your shoulders. It’ll help.’

Isidore couldn’t even swallow. What did he mean, ‘come here?’ Here, where?

As if wanting to answer his question, Judel straightened up, leaving space for him in his own bath. Before he had a chance to decide, Mattes approached, carrying a large, folding screen. He quietly set it up around them and the open space suddenly turned into a private room.

‘What the hell?’ Isidore said under his breath.

He looked at Judel expecting him to be surprised too, but that’s not what he read in those eyes when their gazes met. Intense, and demanding. ‘Do it now,’ that’s what Judel’s eyes were telling him.

His heart pounding in his chest, Isidore stepped out of the water and crossed the small distance into Judel’s bath, lowering himself in front of the other man, back to him.

What was he supposed to do now?

Judel didn’t seem to know what to say or maybe conversation was the last thing in his mind.

Whatever difficulty he might have with his speech, he had none when it came to his hands. They were soon on Isidore’s back, warm and sleek with oil, the smell of it even more potent now. Judel’s fingers sank into his muscles, and he gasped with every sore spot, every tense area, but Judel kept massaging his shoulders, hands moving up and down, knuckles kneading his flesh. His fingers came up to rub into Isidore's neck, along his spine. They wrapped around his throat. A shot of electricity ran through his body, waking up every last corner of his flesh to feelings he had only felt a handful of times before.

He needed to breathe. The prince was only trying to help him, right?

Right?

Judel had slid a bit closer behind him, and there was now something hard resting against his lower back, somewhere under the water. The blush that climbed Isidore’s body was so intense he felt feverish.

‘You’re very tense here,’ the prince said, his voice low, as he slid his right hand under Isidore’s right arm, and held it flat against Isidore's shoulder, while digging with the heel of his left hand into the muscle between Isidore’s neck and his shoulder. It hurt enough for him to tense, but it felt good too.

He was too hot. The water, the steam, the prince. It made him dizzy, and his head swam. A slow languid gasp escaped his lips as his head dropped forward.

‘Hey, are you feeling unwell?’ Judel asked, pulling him back.

Isidore let him, and he ended up resting his back against the prince’s torso. Looking up, their eyes met. Isidore chuckled.

‘What are you laughing at?’ Judel asked, frowning.

‘You’re as red as a beetroot.’ He chuckled again.

Somehow, that made Judel go an even darker shade of red.

‘It’s hot in here,’ he replied.

‘Yeah…’ Isidore looked up into the prince’s eyes. ‘Very hot.’

His eyes dropped to the man’s lips. He hadn’t thought about them at all since they kissed last. Not once. His mind had threatened to, but he had stopped right there. Every time he got even a sense that the feelings of their kiss were going to come back to haunt him, he pro-actively thought of something else. Something less enticing. Something positively disgusting. Like Lord Torell’s sinister grin. His overall face. His presence. Anything. It was the only way to keep those memories at bay.

But that was impossible to do when the real thing was in front of him, titillating temptation. Still, Judel had left in a rush after they kissed. Each time. This time would be no different. Isidore was just going to relax here and think of lord Torell to make sure no part of his anatomy betrayed him.

His scheme was one-sided, though, Judel’s mind nowhere occupied with similar thoughts, if what he was doing now was any proof. The princes strong, beautiful face was coming closer and closer to him, his breath skimmed his skin like hot steam.

But Isidore pulled away, water sloshing around him, before their lips could touch.

‘Sorry,’ Judel said. ‘I won’t… Sorry.’

‘It’s okay,’ Isidore said.

Except that it wasn’t.

He wanted Judel to kiss him. He wanted Judel to devour him. The panic right after, the part when he disappeared, ignored him, pretended all was normal, that he didn’t think he could cope with anymore.

His heart raced in his chest. He so desperately wanted to kiss the prince. The screens hid them from view; all they had to do was be quiet.

‘It’s just that, well, if you’re going to do that…’ His eyes dropped.

‘What?’ Judel’s voice was loaded with hope. It made Isidore smile.

‘If you’re going to do that.’ He looked up at him again, trying to hide the tenderness he felt for the prince. ‘Just make sure you don’t stop, this time.’

The prince looked at each one of his eyes for a tenth of a second as Isidore’s words sank in, before wrapping a hand around Isidore’s neck to pull him back against him. Judel’s lips captured Isidore’s attention. His tongue demanded access, exploring him without preamble and danced greedily in his mouth. Isidore’s hunger was no less. He turned on his side to better reach Judel, to better feel the prince against his skin. Their bodies sleek with the oily water between them, Isidore ran his hands over the prince’s chest, too taken by the kiss to fully appreciate the ridges of Judel’s muscles when his abdomen tensed. The prince’s chest felt immense against him; he could disappear into it. It was soft now, welcoming, unlike the previous day, when he had been so tense his entire body was solid rock.

The prince’s hands grasped at his back, pulling him to bridge an inexistent distance between them. Their bodies now flush against each other, Judel’s dick pressed against his stomach, the size frightening. How was that ever going to fit?

Fortunately, he had seen many a thing while following Lord Torell around Kalye. There was little of the intimacy between partners he had not witnessed during those trips, actually. Orgies were about the tamest occurrence. This would not be the first time these experiences would serve his purpose, and he thought he should be grateful for it.

And if the prince didn’t know how it was meant to be done, it would probably be best to avoid all that on their first time. He had gotten the impression that his previous relationship had been with a woman, but the Ilish were more open about favouring both men and women, so he couldn’t be sure.

Thinking it better to take it slow, he reached down between their bodies and closed his fingers around the prince’s erection. A gasp escaped the prince’s mouth, the sound thrilling. Isidore’s body reacted to it. He pulled away to watch Judel’s face, the prince’s lids lowering, his lips parted. Isidore moved his hand around the girth of him, from the base, tighter at the tip, licking his lips at the beautiful sight of that royal face losing composure because of his touch.

Judel grabbed at his jaw one-handed and pulled him down again, kissing him mercilessly, violently, deliciously. Isidore was going to combust. The prince dragged his kisses to his jaw, over the edge and down his neck, sinking his teeth right below his ear, hands exploring his hips, his back, fingers sinking in the flesh of his ass. Isidore bit down a moan. Judel shivered under him, one hard spasm that made his body vibrate and his cock harden. Isidore slid up the prince’s thighs, pressing closer, wanting to feel him. Judel closed his big hand around Isidore’s dick and stroked him a few times before bringing it together with his own. In a chaos of hands, they both stroked themselves, together, panting between gritted teeth, trying to be as quiet as possible and finding it hard to concentrate on anything else but the other man’s body. His voice was coming out no matter how hard he tried to hold it in, from deep within his throat, in long whines of pleasure as their bodies rubbed against each other.

The tension built in his lower stomach, impatient, as his hips started to move of their own accord, fucking Judel’s hands as much as Judel was stroking him.

‘You coming for me?’ Judel whispered, his voice rough, his free hand closing around Isidore's hair to pull it back. Isidore’s throat was exposed to the prince, and the man didn’t hesitate in applying his mouth to it. He wanted more. He had started this wanting more, wanting to feel the prince inside him, and he was too hot, too tense, too greedy right now to even stop or wait or move. He just wanted to come and Judel felt so good against him.

‘Please,’ his voice escaped in a breath, shaky and begging.

He could feel the corners of Judel’s mouth lift against his collarbones as the man applied his tongue to the sensitive skin, making him shiver, licking up his neck.

‘You better not come before me,’ Judel grunted in his ear.

As if he had any control over it. But the order sent a thrill through his body and he spasmed.

‘Did you like that?’ The prince’s voice was shakier every time he spoke. ‘You’re twitching so beautifully in my hand.’

Isidore looked down at the prince, Judel releasing his hair at the slightest indication, and kissed him. Judel’s lips were red, swollen, his tongue wet, his eyes blurry with want. Was there anything more tempting to look at? Their tongues twisted with ardent urgency, as Judel’s hands moved faster.

‘Only for you,’ Isidore said, feeling feverish.

He was tired, and sore, and aroused. His hips were moving very much despite himself, and the pleasure was growing, tensing in his lower abdomen, his insides tight.

It all went black. For a split second, the world disappeared, as pleasure shut down his senses, the powerful release wrecking him. One spasm after the other, his body shivered and writhed against the prince. Somewhere under him, the prince grunted, his body tensing.

Panting, Isidore collapsed on top of Judel, his head resting on the solid shoulder. Strong arms came to wrap around his waist, his ear against the wet skin. Judel’s heart hammered loudly in his chest, raising him up and letting him down. He listened quietly as their breathing slowed down, lying in numb stupor, coming down from that high.

‘I’m glad you didn’t stop,’ Isidore said, when the silence became too heavy to bear.

Judel’s chuckle sounded deep and hollow, an echo in the cavern of his chest.

‘Yeah, me too.’

The prince ran his hands through the boy’s hair a couple of times, and Isidore’s chest swelled to double its size, his throat in a knot, touched by the tender gesture, thoughts of leaving, thoughts of fear, thoughts of confusion all forgotten in this unexpected moment of total bliss.