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The prince carried him away from the army packing up to destroy more of Torrin's homeland and led him through the woods. It
wasn't until the sounds of army men working and yelling had become natural to him since the destruction of Levant. The silence
of the woods seemed... almost oppressive. The joys of the forest were gone to him.
“I... I can try to walk on my own,” Torrin told the prince, but only received another snort for his efforts. He
wanted to argue, but really? He knew he'd be powerless for a while. He only hoped he'd be able to somehow save his patient...
without any corpses to help him.
The prince continued to carry him without speaking. Torrin recognized the trees and shrubs they passed. They were heading
back to Levant. Torrin didn't want to see the destruction he knew they would be walking in on. But he wouldn't turn away –
that was his punishment for surviving.
“Thank you,” he said finally, drawn to speak to chase away the darkness that was eating at him. “For allowing
my patient to accompany us.”
The prince merely grunted. “Those peons would have let the man die and then blamed the death on you. I had enough fun
last night to want to play with you again.”
Torrin bristled at the prince's words. He tried to fight his way out of the prince's arms, but his damn weakness prevented
him from doing a damn thing. The prince chuckled at him.
They entered a clearing close by the remains of Levant. Within was a carriage. Another carriage was being pulled in by two
grunts.
There was another man there, a clumsy-looking guy with spectacles and hair so blond it looked white. “My prince!”
the man called out, then dropped a few of the papers he held by waving his hand. His efforts to pick them up made him lose
even more.
“Ah, Garridon,” the prince replied. “You brought the maps?”
“Yes, even the smaller ones.” Garridon tried to push his glasses further up on his nose, but almost dropped some
maps. His efforts to catch them this time ended up with his glasses practically falling off. Torrin could only stare at this
lean man and wonder how he managed to end up in an army. No doubt it had to do with these 'maps' Darian was interested.
“They'll take you all the way back to the palace, no problem.”
“I'm sure they will.” Was it just Torrin, or was Darian being awfully kind to this clumsy man? Were they friends?
Darian placed Torrin on the ground and walked up to Garridon, taking the maps from the man and placing them in the carriage
that had been waiting in the clearing. Torrin ended up having to sit on the ground. His legs were too weak to continue holding
him. Torrin watched in shock as the prince walked back to the man named Garridon and kissed him full on the lips.
The prince literally held the man up after the kiss was completed, smiling down as the clumsy man practically swooned. Torrin
fought the urge to be sick. Or jealous – gods forbid.
The man – Garridon – was led away by one of the grunts, and the other stayed to speak to the prince. The man nodded
shortly and followed the others.
The prince looked a little shocked when he turned to Torrin. “Do your wounds hurt that badly?”
Torrin wanted to give the prince a piece of his mind, but doubted he would look at all imposing while sitting or swaying where
he stood. He settled for a glare and sullenly looked away when the prince chuckled. Gods knew why Torrin was so angry about
the prince kissing that... loser.
“Your patient is in that carriage,” Darian told him, pointing to the carriage the grunts had brought up. “Some
men are going to be coming with us to ensure my safety.” Darian came up to him, towering over him. Torrin refused to
crane his neck to look up.
The prince leaned down and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look up. “You are mine, my little medic. For as long as
I wish it.”
When Torrin opened his mouth to tell the prince exactly what he thought of that, Darian lifted him up in his arms again. “Damn
you, put me down!” Torrin yelped, though he knew he couldn't stand and knew further that he wouldn't be able to fight.
He tried anyway.
The prince chuckled again, and Torrin damned the man's amusement. Torrin was led inside the carriage with the maps. The carriage
was spacious and even had a bed bolted to the boards that created the floor of the carriage. There were crates of food, blankets,
and satchels of water near the maps. Torrin heard more men coming near, heard the wheels of a cart. He wondered if another
carriage was coming. That would explain where the prince's furnishings would be.
The prince dumped Torrin on the bed rather unceremoniously. Torrin bounced a bit and automatically tried to catch himself
– pain. He ended up allowing himself to bounce on the bed as fancy saw fit.
The prince moved across the carriage and dug behind the blankets. Torrin watched as the prince smiled and stood, then turned
back to Torrin.
Torrin struggled to sit up, feeling his ribs move slightly and his magic scream. How long would this weakness continue? It
had been a week the last time, but he hadn't been as injured as he was now. He couldn't afford to be this weak –
he had to heal his patient. He had...
...to escape somehow.
The prince gently pushed him back down on the bed, careful to make sure his head didn't hit the bed post. Then the prince
laid on top of him.
“Wait!” Torrin cried, trying again to sit up. The prince's weight made his efforts even more fruitless. “What
are you doing-”
The prince captured Torrin's lips beneath his own. Torrin felt himself react to the kiss, but he kept his lips closed. The
prince merely chuckled again and moved to bite at the pulse at Torrin's throat. Despite himself, Torrin moved his head to
let Darian continue with greater access.
“This isn't...” Torrin's breath was weak, his mind heady. He couldn't think.
No! No – this wasn't right. It wasn't right!
Torrin brought his hands up and shoved weakly against the prince's shoulder. He had no strength. He couldn't shove Darian
away!
The prince easily grabbed his wrists and pulled them over his head. There was a scratchy texture in one of Darian's hands,
something round-
The prince licked his neck, making Torrin gasp. His body jerked a bit in reaction. He felt the prince's hands circle his own,
holding them down. There was that scratchy feeling. Torrin recognized the material... like-
Darian suddenly licked Torrin's nipple through the fabric of his shirt. Torrin cried out, unable to completely choke off his
voice. His back arched up into the prince's mouth. The prince took the chance to nip at the nub-
-And quickly tied his hands together.
“Hey!” Torrin yelled out, finding his arms being pulled further up, straining against his ribs and bruises. Torrin
tried to struggle, but just ended up hurting himself more. “Darian, what-”
The prince stilled for a minute. It was only then that Torrin realized he'd just said the prince's name. He stilled in fear,
not knowing how the prince would react.
Darian seemed... surprised... to here his name spoken so informally. There was confusion. Then that godsdamned amusement returned
and the prince was smiling. “Dear medic,” Darian whispered then, “I'm going to make you scream my name tonight.”
Torrin's heart thumped one slow, painful beat before racing its way up his throat.
“But until then,” the prince continued, sitting up and pulling Torrin's arms up further. He could hear the prince
tying the rope to the bedpost and futilely attempted to struggle. “I'm going to ensure that you cannot escape.”
“What?!” Torrin gasped, trying to tug his wrists free from the knots that bound him. His body was too weak
to continue pulling, however, and he found himself lying limply on the bed, panting slightly. “I can't... you know I
can't walk,” Torrin shot out.
The prince only smiled. “Desperation finds a way.” Then the prince got off of him and jumped off the carriage.
“But wait – my patient!” Torrin called desperately, lifting his head to see the prince.
Darian turned back to him, dark brown eyes glittering a bit in the sun. “Didn't I tell you? 'Medical supplies' includes
an aid. He will assist your patient until I let you near him.”
“Damn you!” Torrin cried, but only succeeded in making the prince chuckle and walk away. He growled and immediately
turned to the rope binding him. The hell with this. He wasn't going to be trussed up like some... like a turkey.
The knotting was extremely intricate for something that had been done so quickly. He used his feet to move himself higher
up on the bed, wincing as he did so. Then he set his teeth to work.
<<<<<*>>>>>
He ordered the soldiers he was given to their posts, then checked on his medic's aid. He double-checked to ropes binding his
furnishings in the third cart that had arrived with the soldiers that were accompanying him on his journey back to the castle.
A part of him wished his assistant, Vim, was with him, but knew he wouldn't have any fun if the old fart had stayed around,
despite how helpful he was at times. He supposed he would just have to make his little medic do those things for him.
Thinking about the young blond reminded him of the way his name had sounded on the young man's lips. There had been no “your
Highness” or “Prince Darian” with him, though that was to be expected – he was a Stravian,
after all. But beyond that was simply the way he'd actually reacted – he'd felt his member jump when his little catamite
had yelped out his name.
“Darian, what-”
He moved over to his steed and patted the stallion's neck. “Hey there, Charger,” the prince murmured, stroking
the muzzle. He waited for Charger's knicker before jumping onto his back.
Despite himself, he found his eyes wandering to the carriage little Torrin was in. The boy truly was badly injured. He feared
that the lad's ribs had been worsened. The boy's cut had been healing, but it had been opened up, and it wasn't the only one
he had now. Not to mention the bruises. It all made Darian furious. The boy was his. No one touched what was his,
even if it was a Stravian. Godsdamn father and his fucking army.
None of his interests had been beaten before. No one had dared. But his interests had never been Stravian before, and anyone
who wasn't Coran wasn't accepted.
Torrin seemed... weak. He truly wasn't able to move. Had he been injured internally? How much pain was he in?
It didn't seem necessary to tie the boy to the bed, but he knew better than to leave the boy there. Unattended, his little
medic may attempt an escape. He had seen the look in Torrin's eyes on the walk to the carriage. He wasn't going to lose this
boy. The sex was outstanding, the boy was amusing... his skin was soft, his eyes were large, his body was pale and lean...
No, he wouldn't give the boy a chance to escape. Besides, the boy would be caught. This area was officially Coran land
now. And the boy may not be found by him.
Torture... rape... death... his medic would suffer if he escaped... and may suffer if he was supervised in the carriage by
one of the men accompanying them. Darian wouldn't allow any more beatings to occur.
“Move out,” he called out to the men, then rode beside the middle carriage, which held his young medic. The day
was a bright essence on the forest, the sun dappling the leaves' shadows as they they swung in the wind. The maps of Levant
had shown a prosperous little town. Now it was rubble. The forest, at least, had survived. But at what cost? The life water
the plants were drinking was stained with blood. As were his hands for leading this victory.
Whatever it took, he vowed. Whatever it took until his father was dead and the throne was finally his.
<<<<<*>>>>>
The rope was thick. Damn thick. And bristly.
He'd found that his attempt at freedom would take a while when he found his body exhausted after about seven minutes. His
body demanded rest. He needed a chance to heal, but resting would bring him closer to the hour when the prince would return
for more... entertainment. And Torrin was desperate to make certain it never happened again.
Yes, it had felt good. It had felt incredible, more than he could have ever imagined. The sex was...
But it was dirty. He felt dirty. He'd given himself to a man – he'd given in to his physical desire and had had
sex with Corath's prince.
He bit hard on the rope and shut his eyes tight. It had felt good... but it had been wrong. He felt sick. It had been forced
on him at first, but in the end... in the end he'd given himself freely.
He was terrified he'd do so again.
He pulled at the rope again until a small part snapped off. He struggled to overcome the wave of pain that crashed through
him and tugged again at the rope.
“Damn you,” he muttered. “Damn you, you fucking shithead. I'll get out of here. Just you wait.”
<<<<<*>>>>>
The prince watched the sun lower against the horizon. They would travel until they met the river that was the official border
(which would need to be changed if his father had his way) to Corath. Then they would skirt around town after town after town
until, after a few weeks, they once again made it to the capital and the castle that stood above it on a high hill.
His men were all tired and hungry. No one had eaten since they'd moved out. He wanted to reach the embankment before nightfall.
He could see it ahead of them, a tiny sliver in the distance. It would be a while before they reached it.
He wondered about his little spitfire. He'd been in the carriage alone all day while he was ill. He wondered if he should
send the aid in. He was worried about the boy's injuries. And of course he would be hungry, which left him weaker. Should
he wait to have sex with the boy again?
A stir in the blankets covering the back of the wagon made him blink the world back into focus. Another flutter showed a lock
of blond hair. Darian moved Charger a bit closer to the carriage, trying to see, unsure-
And the small body burst from the carriage, stumbling out and falling by Charger's hooves. Charger reacted immediately, rearing
for the kill-
“No, Charger!” His heart thudding in his ears, he pulled up the reigns and forced the horse to alter his hooves.
There was yelling occurring around him, orders being barked out, carriages grinding to a halt. He saw the small form of Torrin
huddled on the ground, still rolling from his jump out of the carriage. Charger was suddenly confused, neighing and rearing
again, unsure of where to go. “Halt!” he ordered. Charger landed and stood still. He felt Charger's muscles quiver
in strain. The stallion was tense.
“You Highness, are you-”
“Stay here!” he snapped. “I will return shortly.” He turned Charger to where his medic had disappeared,
having managed to gain his feet out from underneath himself.
“Do you want some of us to join you?” one of his father's men called.
“No! Stay here!” Darian said again. He patted Charger's neck. “Hostage,” he murmured, and Charger
responded to the word, once again sure of himself. They raced off in the direction Torrin had gone.
<<<<<*>>>>>
The pain made him crash tot he ground once again, and he was slow getting himself back up. He thought of his patient, then
thought again of the aid. Would the prince let the man die once Torrin was gone, or would he leave the aid to care for him?
Maybe he would fuck the aid, Torrin thought. He certainly had no qualms about kissing that clumsy mapmaker.
And why did he even care? The man was the Coran prince. He had led the attack that had destroyed Fort Shiro. He was a man.
And he was right fucking behind him!
Torrin saw the prince on that huge war horse and struggled to run farther away. He ended up crying out in pain and crumpling
once again to the ground, tired and weak and shivering as pain lanced up and down his nerves. He tried to stand, tried to
move-
The prince was right behind him. Torrin managed to get up again and continued to run. His ribs jarred in his gut, his cuts
bled. His magic disliked his movement, his injuries that couldn't be healed. His veins sang in agony.
“Stop!” the prince ordered. Like he would listen to the man's orders.
Torrin was about to tell him off when he tripped once again. His arm fell under his stomach as he landed, managing to rattle
his loose ribs. He cried out.
Behind him, he heard the prince yell out for his horse to stop, then heard him hop off his mount.
“Stay away from me!” he screamed, managing once again to stand. He swayed drunkenly.
“Damn you, you foolish little-” the prince grabbed his arm, making him wince.
“Let go!” Torrin wrenched his arm free and searched his pants, praying he hadn't lost his cargo in the fall from
the carriage. His fingers grasped the smooth handle.
“You little shit,” the prince hissed. “You're coming back with me!” He reached out again, but Torrin
managed to stumble away. The prince's dark gaze burned into him.
“No! I'm not a toy, and I'm not a whore!” Torrin pulled out the knife and saw the prince's eyes go wide as he
pressed the blade against his pale throat.
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