Chapter 25: The Prince's Test
The deep, velvety black of unconsciousness began to thin. Sensation crept back in slow, warm tendrils. The first was weight—a delicious, anchoring heaviness across her hips and legs. The second was heat—the radiant, living warmth of two large bodies pressed against her, front and back. The third was scent—pine, leather, male skin, and beneath it, the faint, musky memory of sex.
Mila opened her eyes. Grey morning light filtered through the high, narrow windows, softening the room. The fire had burned down to embers. She was on her side, facing Alexsi. He was already awake, watching her with those calm, unreadable eyes, his head propped on his hand. Andrey’s chest was a solid wall against her back, his slow, even breaths stirring her hair.
For a suspended moment, there was only the peace of it. No immediate fear. No pain sharper than the pleasant ache in her muscles. The silence felt like a held breath.
Andrey stirred behind her, nuzzling the nape of her neck. “Morning, little fox,” he mumbled, his voice gravelly with sleep. His hand, which had been splayed over her stomach, flexed gently.
“How do you feel?” Alexsi asked. His voice was always so measured, but the question wasn’t clinical. It was a quiet inventory.
She considered it. The burn on her side was a dull, manageable throb. The deeper bruises felt stiff, but not sharp. The hollow, frantic terror that had lived in her chest for days was… quieter. Not gone. But muffled under the weight of the furs and their presence.
“Okay,” she said, and it was almost true. “Stiff.”
“We’ll run a bath,” Alexsi said, already moving. He slid out from the sheets, his naked body a pale sculpture in the dim light. He padded across the room to the copper tub, began turning taps. The sound of rushing water filled the space.
Andrey stretched against her, a lion-like expansion of muscle. He kissed her shoulder. “Need to piss like a racehorse. Don’t go anywhere.” He climbed out after Alexsi, his massive frame moving with a surprising lightness.
Alone for a moment, Mila pushed herself up on her elbows. The room was a landscape of aftermath. Their clothes lay in discarded piles by the wall. The rug where they’d knelt was slightly rumpled. She saw the faint, dried streaks on the logs. Her face heated, but it was a flush of remembered heat, not shame. She had watched that. She had asked for it. The memory was a live wire in her belly.
The bath steamed. Alexsi tested the water with his elbow, then tossed in a handful of salts from a clay jar. The clean, herbal scent of chamomile and birch rose with the steam.
Andrey returned from the adjoining toilet, scratching his stomach. “Right, medical check. Prince’s orders. Before anything else.”
Alexsi nodded, coming back to the bed. “The dressings need changing. It’ll be quick.”
It was clinical and intimate in a wholly different way. They worked as a team. Andrey gently helped her sit up fully, supporting her back. Alexsi brought the black medical case over, opening it on the nightstand with a series of precise clicks. He washed his hands meticulously at the basin, then approached with the detached focus of a surgeon.
“Tell me if it hurts,” he said, his fingers beginning to peel back the tape on her side.
She held her breath. The pull of the adhesive was sharp, but then the cool air hit the wound. She glanced down. The burn was an angry, blistering patch the size of her palm, but the skin around it was less inflamed than before. The clear gel the Prince had applied glistened.
“It looks better,” Alexsi observed, almost to himself. He cleaned the area with a sterile wipe, his touch feather-light. “The infection is receding.” He applied a fresh layer of the cool, clear antibiotic gel and secured a new, clean dressing. His hands were utterly steady. “The bruises will take longer. But nothing’s broken.”
Andrey handed him another wipe for the smaller cuts on her arms and face. Alexsi tended to each one with the same silent concentration. When his thumb brushed a fading yellow bruise on her jaw, left by some anonymous hand during her transportation, his jaw tightened minutely. That was the only sign.
“All done,” he said finally, closing the case. “Bath now. It’ll help the stiffness.”
They didn’t just lead her to the tub. Andrey lifted her, cradling her against his chest as if she weighed nothing, and lowered her carefully into the deep, hot water. She sighed as the heat enveloped her, loosening her muscles. They both climbed in after her, the copper tub groaning in protest under their combined mass. Water sloshed over the sides onto the tile floor.
It was a tight fit. She sat between Alexsi’s legs, her back against his chest. Andrey sat opposite, his knees bracketing hers, taking up most of the other end. For a while, they just soaked. Andrey soaped a cloth and began to wash her arms, her neck. Alexsi’s hands smoothed over her shoulders, working at the tension there.
“You asked a lot of questions yesterday,” Alexsi said quietly, his breath against her ear. “About why. It’s your turn. Ask us anything.”
The steam made the air thick, safe for confessions. She looked at Andrey’s face, at the pale lattice of old scars over his ribs, souvenirs from the government “enhancements.”
“How did you two… become this?” she asked.
Andrey snorted. “Became perverts, you mean?”
A small smile touched her lips. “You know what I mean.”
Alexsi’s hands stilled on her shoulders. “We met in basic training. I was the serious one. He was the giant who couldn’t follow an order to save his life.”
“I followed orders,” Andrey protested, dribbling water at him. “I just questioned their tactical fucking merit.”
“You questioned everything. They beat you for it. Broke your ribs once. I… intervened.”
“He didn’t just intervene,” Andrey said, his voice dropping. “He stood over me in the mud while three of them laid into him with batons. Took the beating meant for me. After that, we were stuck. Brothers. Did everything together. Postings, raids, the whole shit show.”
The water moved gently. Alexsi resumed his ministrations. “Years later, after a particularly bad mission… we were both drunk on rotgut vodka in some filthy barracks. Hurt. Angry at the world. It just happened. Wasn’t planned. Didn’t have a name for it. It was just… solace. An anchor. Something that was ours, in a world where we owned nothing.”
Andrey met Alexsi’s gaze over her head, a look of profound understanding passing between them. “Nobody knows. Not your father, not Command. It’s our secret. The only one that matters.”
“And me?” The question slipped out.
“You’re not a secret,” Alexsi said, his arms tightening around her. “You’re a miracle we didn’t dare hope for. A chance to do something clean.”
They finished bathing in silence, the words settling into the steam. They toweled her off, then each other, another one of those quiet, caring rituals. Andrey wrapped her in a thick, woolen robe while Alexsi pulled on fresh trousers. They made breakfast—simple black bread, sharp cheese, and strong tea. They ate at the small table by the window, Mila perched on Alexsi’s lap because there were only two chairs, Andrey grinning as he fed her bits of cheese from his own fingers.
They ate at the small table by the window, Mila perched on Alexsi’s lap because there were only two chairs, Andrey grinning as he fed her bits of cheese from his own fingers. The tea was bitter and bracing, cutting through the rich fat of the cheese. Outside, a stiff wind pushed banks of grey cloud across the mountain peaks, but inside the thick stone walls, they were encased in a pocket of warmth. Mila felt the solid plane of Alexsi’s stomach against her back, the steady beat of his heart.
“I feel useless,” she said quietly, not looking at either of them. The words felt childish, but they were true. She brushed a crumb from the wool of her robe. “You cook. You clean. You… do everything. I just sleep and eat and take up space.”
Andrey’s grin softened. He put his chunk of bread down. “You’re healing. That’s your job. The only one.”
“I know.” She fiddled with the edge of the table. A long silence stretched, filled only by the wind. She looked up, first at Andrey, then tilted her head to see Alexsi’s profile. “But I want to… contribute. Not to earn my place. I know I don’t have to.” She took a breath, her gaze settling on Andrey. “You know him. In that way. I saw it. Could you… could you show me? How to make him feel good? Like you do?”
The question hung in the air. Andrey’s blue eyes widened slightly, then melted into something impossibly tender. He looked past her, at Alexsi, a silent conversation passing in a glance. Alexsi’s arms around her waist tightened almost imperceptibly, a subtle squeeze of affirmation.
“Fuck, darling,” Andrey breathed, his voice rough. He reached across the table, his huge hand covering both of hers, stilling their nervous motion. “You don’t ever have to do a goddamn thing. Especially not now. You get that, right? You could just sit here forever and be our beautiful girl and that would be enough. More than enough.”
“I know,” she repeated, her own voice gaining strength. She turned her hands under his, lacing her fingers with his rough ones. “But I want to. I want to put the effort in. For him. For you. For… us.”
That word, ‘us’, did something to the atmosphere. It made the thing between them concrete. Andrey swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing. He looked genuinely moved, his usual bravado stripped away. He brought her captured hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Okay. Okay, little fox. We can show you. But on our terms. Slow. No goal. Just… feeling. Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she whispered.
Alexsi hadn’t spoken yet. He nuzzled the crown of her hair. “Thank you,” he murmured, just for her. The gratitude in it was profound.
They finished the meal in a new kind of quiet, one thrumming with gentle anticipation. Andrey cleared the plates. Alexsi stood, lifting Mila with him, and carried her to the large armchair by the hearth. He sat, settling her sideways across his lap. Andrey stoked the fire until it leapt and crackled, then dragged a large, stuffed ottoman close. He sat facing them, his knees almost touching Alexsi’s.
“Right,” Andrey said, his tone shifting to one of focused instruction. It was the voice of a soldier teaching a vital skill. “He likes touch. Firm touch. He’s not made of glass. But it’s about attention. Watching him. Seeing what makes him breathe differently.”
He reached out and put his hand on Alexsi’s bare shoulder. Alexsi, who had been watching Mila, closed his eyes. Andrey’s thumb began to move, a slow, grinding circle into the dense muscle. “See here? This knot. He carries all the world’s weight right fucking here. Press into it. Not a tickle. Dig in.”
Mila watched, mesmerized. Alexsi’s head tipped back slightly, a faint sigh escaping him. Andrey guided her hand, placing it over his own on Alexsi’s shoulder. “You feel that? That cable? Work it.”
She pressed, mimicking the motion. Alexsi’s eyes opened, fixing on her. “Harder,” he said, his voice low.
She increased the pressure, using her body weight. A soft, gratified groan rumbled in his chest. “Yes. Just like that.”
For a while, it was just that. Andrey guided her hands over Alexsi’s torso, showing her the landscape of him—the ridges of his abdomen, the hard shelf of his pectorals, the sensitive dip of his collarbones. Alexsi submitted to the exploration, his breathing deepening, his body warming under their combined attention. Mila’s own nerves began to fade, replaced by a curious, focused power. She was learning the map of his pleasure.
“Now,” Andrey said, his voice dropping an octave. “His cock. He likes it slow to start. He likes to be… savored.”
Andrey’s own hands went to the button of Alexsi’s trousers. He popped it open, drew the zipper down slowly. Alexsi’s hips lifted slightly to help. Andrey didn’t pull him out immediately. He palmed him through the fabric, a heavy, possessive gesture that made Alexsi grit his teeth. “See how he’s already filling out? Just from our hands on him. He’s so fucking responsive when he lets his guard down.”
Then Andrey reached in and drew him out. Alexsi’s cock was thick and already half-hard, lying against his stomach. The firelight glazed the skin. Mila’s mouth went dry. She’d seen it, tasted it indirectly on Andrey’s mouth, but this was different. This was an offering, a lesson.
“Touch him,” Andrey whispered.
Mila reached out, her fingers trembling. She traced the prominent vein on the underside, from root to tip. Alexsi jerked, a full-body twitch. “Use your whole hand,” Andrey coached. “Get a good grip. Like you mean it.”
She closed her hand around him. He was hot, the skin like silk over steel. She began to stroke, tentative at first. Andrey’s hand covered hers again, not to take over, but to guide the rhythm. “Slow. Long pulls. Twist your wrist a little on the upstroke. Yeah. Just like that. Fuck, look at him.”
Alexsi’s eyes were heavy-lidded, his lips parted. He was watching her hand on him with a rapt, intense focus. His hips began to match her rhythm in tiny, involuntary surges.
“He’s getting close already,” Andrey observed, a note of pride in his voice. “He’s been wound so tight for you, for days. All that control. It doesn’t take much to unwind him now.” Andrey leaned forward then, his voice a hot murmur in her ear. “You want to taste him? I’ll show you how he likes it.”
She nodded, a frantic little motion. Desire was a thick, pooling heat between her own legs, saturting the robe. Andrey shifted from the ottoman to his knees on the rug, positioning himself beside the chair. “Come here, between my legs. Watch me.”
She slid from Alexsi’s lap, kneeling on the soft rug facing Andrey, with Alexsi’s thighs spread before them. Andrey didn’t hesitate. He leaned in and licked a broad, wet stripe from Alexsi’s balls to the tip, then took the head into his mouth, sucking firmly.
“See? No kitten licks. He wants pressure. He wants to feel claimed.” Andrey pulled off with a wet sound. “Use your tongue on that spot right underneath the head. It drives him insane.”
He made room for her. Mila leaned in, her heart hammering against her ribs. The scent of him—clean skin and something uniquely male—filled her senses. She mimicked Andrey, licking the length of him, trying to be firm. Alexsi’s hand came down, tangling gently in her hair. Not forcing, just holding.
“Good girl,” he breathed.
Encouraged, she took him into her mouth. She couldn’t take nearly as much as Andrey could, but she focused on the head, sucking, swirling her tongue. Andrey’s hand was on the back of her head, not pushing, just present. “Relax your throat. Just focus on the first few inches. Use your hand on the rest. Yeah, perfect. You look so fucking beautiful like this.”
The praise ignited her. She found a rhythm, bobbing her head, stroking what she couldn’t take. The sounds were obscenely wet, and Alexsi’s groans were a low, continuous rumble above her. His fingers tightened slightly in her hair.
“Gonna come,” he warned, his voice strained and thick. “Mila…”
She didn’t pull away. She looked up at him, meeting his burning gaze, and took him deeper, urging him on. That was his undoing. With a ragged shout, he came, pulsing hot and bitter into her mouth. She swallowed instinctively, her eyes watering, riding out the waves until he was spent and softening.
She pulled off, panting. Alexsi slumped back in the chair, utterly spent, a sheen of sweat on his chest. He looked wrecked and peaceful. Andrey was grinning, a wild, happy grin. He cupped her face. “You did so good. Fucking perfect. Look what you did to him.”
Alexsi reached for her, pulling her up and into a deep, languid kiss. He tasted himself on her tongue. “Thank you,” he said again, the words filled with a depth of feeling that went far beyond the physical.
But Mila was trembling, a different need coursing through her now. The lesson, the power, had stoked her own hunger to a fever pitch. She turned in Alexsi’s lap, facing Andrey. Her hands went to the waistband of his sweatpants. “My turn to learn you,” she said, her voice husky.
Andrey’s grin turned fierce. “Christ, yes.” He helped her, shoving the fabric down. His erection sprang free, thick and ruddy and immense. It was intimidating, a testament to the chemical alterations his body had endured. Mila wrapped both hands around it; her fingers didn’t touch.
Andrey hissed through his teeth. “Don’t be scared of it. It’s just me.”
Alexsi’s hands settled on her hips, anchoring her. “Use your mouth on his balls first. He likes that. A lot.”
She obeyed, bending forward. She took one heavy sac into her mouth, rolling it gently with her tongue. Andrey moaned, a deep, shuddering sound. “Fuck yes. Just like that.” She licked and suckled, exploring the sensitive skin of his perineum, learning what made his thighs tense and his breath catch.
“Now, try,” he panted. “Don’t worry about taking it all. Just the head. Suck it like a fucking peach pit.”
She moved up, pressing her lips to the broad, leaking crown. She could only get the very tip past her lips, but she suckled hard, her tongue flicking the slit. Andrey’s head dropped back, a string of filthy praise falling from his lips. “Oh, baby, that’s it. Your pretty mouth. So good. Fuck, Alexsi, look at her.”
Alexsi was looking. His hands had moved from her hips, slipping inside her robe, which had fallen open. He found her cunt, soaked and swollen. One long finger slid into her with effortless ease. She cried out around Andrey’s cock, the vibration making him buck.
“She’s dripping,” Alexsi reported, his voice dark with lust. He added a second finger, scissoring them, stretching her gently. “All from sucking your fat cock. From making me come. She’s so turned on, Andryusha. Can you feel it?”
Andrey could only nod, his eyes clenched shut. Alexsi’s fingers curled, finding that perfect spot inside her. At the same time, he pressed the heel of his hand against her clit. The dual sensation was blinding. Mila’s world narrowed to the stretch of her mouth, the push of Alexsi’s fingers, the rough, urgent sounds of the men.
She moved on Andrey with renewed desperation, wanting to pull that same earth-shattering release from him. She worked the head with her mouth while her hands stroked the thick shaft. Alexsi fucked her with his fingers, his pace relentless, perfectly matched to her rhythm.
“I’m not gonna last,” Andrey growled. “Gonna fill your throat, darling. You want that? You want me to come down your throat?”
She made a desperate, affirmative sound. It was all the permission he needed. With a roar, he erupted, his release hot and copious, flooding her mouth. She swallowed convulsively, milked by Alexsi’s perfect, unyielding fingers on her own climax. It crashed over her, a silent, screaming wave that turned her muscles to liquid and her vision to white static. She collapsed forward, her forehead resting on Andrey’s trembling thigh, while Alexsi slowly, gently, worked her through the last tremors.
For a long time, there was only the sound of the fire and their ragged, merging breaths. Andrey finally stirred, his big hand stroking her back. “Up you come, miracle girl.”
He and Alexsi lifted her between them, carrying her to the bed. They didn’t speak. They cleaned her with a damp cloth, their touches reverent. They arranged the furs around her. Then they flanked her, their bodies curving around hers like protective parentheses.
The wind howled outside, a lonely sound. But in the center of the storm, in the eye of a world that had tried to break her, Mila felt an unshakable calm settle into her bones. She had given. She had taken. She had learned. She was not a captive here. She was the axis around which their strange, fierce loyalty turned. As sleep pulled her under, safe in the fortress of their arms, she knew one thing with absolute certainty: she would learn to fight for this. For them.