Chapter 5: The Knight's Dark Ambition
The first sliver of dawn was not sunlight but a slow bleed of cool, silver-blue luminescence through the crystal walls. It painted the wreckage of the bed in monochrome. Aldric opened his eyes. The deep, dreamless peace was gone, burned away by a sharp, clarifying clarity.
He turned his head. Valerion slept beside him, facing him, lips slightly parted, one elegant hand still curled on the pillow near his own face. He looked impossibly young in sleep, the centuries falling away. Beautiful. Fragile.
A cold, familiar sensation uncoiled in Aldric’s gut. It was the same focus that settled over him before a charge, when the chaos of battle resolved into a simple geometry of threats and openings. Only here, the battlefield was silk, and the weapon was his own flesh.
His gaze traveled down the prince’s slender form, over the hip he had gripped, to the shadows between. A slight, dark bruise was already forming on the pale skin of one buttock—the imprint of his thumb. A mark of possession.
Hole-obsessed fae.
The prince’s own words from the night before, whispered in passion, now echoed with strategic significance. Their reverence, their desperate hunger for it… it was a vulnerability wider than any castle gate. And he was the battering ram.
Carefully, moving with the controlled silence of a hunter, Aldric shifted. The silks whispered. Valerion sighed in his sleep but didn’t wake. Aldric positioned himself behind the prince, on his knees. He looked at the perfect, round curves presented to him, at the entrance still slightly swollen from his use. His own body responded, thickening, awakening with a pulse that was more about power than desire.
He spat into his palm, slicked himself roughly. No ceremony this time.
He leaned over, his broad shadow swallowing the prince. One hand planted next to Valerion’s shoulder, the other gripped the crest of his hip. He positioned the broad, blunt head at the prince’s entrance and pushed.
Valerion awoke with a choked-off gasp, body seizing from sleep directly into a shock of intense, full sensation. It was tighter than last night, sore, less yielding. Aldric reveled in the resistance. He pushed harder, a slow, inexorable invasion, until he was buried to the hilt once more, the prince’s body stretched taut around him.
“Wha—Aldric?” Valerion’s voice was muffled by the pillow, confused, still soft with sleep.
“You said they were eager,” Aldric growled, his voice low and rough by the prince’s ear. He didn’t move, just let Valerion feel the full, unmoving weight of him. “Your court. You said they awaited a demonstration.”
He pulled back almost all the way and slammed home. Valerion cried out, a sharp, broken sound. His fingers clawed at the silk.
“Is this what they want to see?” Aldric thrust again, establishing a brutal, punishing rhythm. No artistry, just possession. “Their prince, taken like this? Used?”
“Y-yes—” Valerion managed, his face turned to the side, eyes screwed shut.
“No,” Aldric corrected, leaning down closer, his breath hot on the prince’s neck. “Not ‘yes’. You’ll say ‘my knight’. Or ‘my lord’. You understand?”
He punctuated the question with a deeper, grinding thrust that made Valerion arch off the bed. The prince was fully hard now, his own cock trapped beneath him, leaking onto the silk. A sob caught in his throat. It wasn’t pain. It was something more profound.
“My knight,” Valerion gasped, the words a surrendered sigh.
“Again.”
“My knight.” Louder this time. A mantra.
Aldric changed the angle, seeking, and found the spot that made Valerion jolt as if branded. The prince’s composure shattered into frantic, begging pleas. “There—please, my knight, right there—”
Aldric rewarded him, hammering into that same perfect place with the relentless force of a siege weapon. He watched himself in one of the whispering mirrors across the room—a massive, scarred human mounting a sublime fae prince like a beast. The image fueled him. This was his domain now. Not the jousting lists or the muddy fields of man, but this. The raw economy of pleasure as power.
“You’re mine,” Aldric grunted, the declaration leaving him like a vow. “This court, their obsession… you’ve handed me the key. And I’m going to break every lock in this glittering place.”
Valerion could only moan, his body clenching in rhythmic spasms, teetering on the edge. Aldric felt his own climax building, a tide of dark triumph. He wanted to mark more than skin this time.
“Come for me,” he commanded, his grip on Valerion’s hip bruising-tight. “Show your knight.”
With a shattered cry that echoed off the crystal, Valerion obeyed, his body seizing, pulsing around Aldric in waves of helpless ecstasy. The tight, fluttering convulsions dragged Aldric over the edge after him. He drove in one last, deep time, holding himself there as he emptied, claiming the prince’s depths with a possessiveness that felt more permanent than any treaty.
He collapsed atop him for a moment, both of them slick and heaving. The silver dawn light was stronger now, clinical, exposing everything.