A window slit let in a narrow band of light that moved across the floor as the hours passed. The sounds and smells of supper
drifted under the heavy oak door. Adair’s stomach complained of hunger—he had not eaten since break-fast—but no one came.
Shadows crept across the room as the light faded. Though it was early summer, cold seeped out of the ancient stones, chilling
his flesh. He heard the evening song of a thrush, high and sweet and infinitely sad to one who knew he might never again hear
the morning larks.
It was hard to die for something you hadn’t done. He had known the risk when his father, Tarkun, Duke of Corydon, had chosen
him to be a hostage as a token of peace in exchange for the cousin of Dakin Kenet Tejar, High Lord and King of Massalas. When
you are twenty-two and have just come to full manhood, death is something you don’t think about, but he should have. His father
had a great love of conquest and little use for a fourth son, particularly one who did not share his joy of slaughter. Adair
was a skilled warrior, but he took no pride in that, and he was sick after every battle.
Adair had never expected to become friends with the king. Only ten years older than him, the Lord King of Massalas was the
most beautiful man Adair had ever seen. Not overly tall, Dakin had a warrior’s body. Massive arms and shoulders tapered to
a hard stomach and muscled thighs. He kept his thick brown hair cropped short for battle. His thoughtful gray eyes had studied
the slender young hostage kneeling at his feet. Homesick and terrified, Adair had vowed, on pain of his soul, never to raise
arms against this man who had been his father’s enemy. Somehow, even then he had known that this was a man he could trust.
Then Dakin had smiled at him, and he’d blushed and stammered and felt what he had never felt for all the girls he had tumbled
in the fields.
Treated as an honored guest, Adair had enjoyed the privileges and honor due a prince—and more attention than he had ever had
from his father. Dakin had taken his word, and given him the freedom of his household and his friendship. There had never
been anything else between them, but sometimes Adair had been surprised by a look on Dakin’s face that had made him wonder.
Now, there would be no more such generosity. Adair’s father had attacked the western villages, then tortured and murdered
his hostage, the king’s own cousin, at the victory celebration. Adair had just returned from a morning’s hawking when Dakin’s
personal guard tore him off his horse and dragged him into the castle. They had not hesitated to tell him exactly what his
father had done to the king’s cousin. When Adair vomited his guts out, they laughed and left him lying in his own mess. The
treaty was broken. Adair’s life was forfeit to the king’s pleasure.
After a long time, Adair heard footsteps in the hall. The door opened, then slammed shut, and the heavy bar thunked into place.
Adair shivered; the waiting was over. The sharp click of boots stopped just in front of him. His eyes traveled up the muscled
thighs and bulging crotch, tightly outlined by sleek riding leathers, to the sternly handsome face. Adair’s eyes lit up in
automatic welcome. The king was alone. For a moment, he dared to hope.
Then he was more afraid than ever. He had never seen Dakin so icily angry. It was not to be a public execution, but a private,
more personal revenge. Adair had hoped it would be quick; he was not brave. He tried to keep from trembling. His eyes cold
with hate and contempt, Dakin looked down at Adair, then raised one polished boot and kicked him onto his back.
“Corydon bastard! Do you know what they did to my cousin before they killed him? They beat him bloody and gave him to the
garrison to enjoy. By the time they finished raping him, there wasn’t much left to kill. But your father’s torturers are skilled;
they kept him alive two more days.”
His lips twisted in a vicious smile that tore Adair’s heart. “Have you wondered what I am going to do to you?” he asked softly.
A shudder ran through Adair’s body. “Yes, I can see that you have.”
Kneeling beside the sprawled figure, Dakin wrapped his fist in the ropes around Adair’s chest and jerked him to his knees.
With his other hand, he drew an eight-inch dagger from his belt. Adair stared helplessly at the gleaming weapon inches from
his face. He closed his eyes tightly. Dakin laughed.
“It won’t be that quick.” With a sudden movement, he cut the gag away. “The guards needn’t have bothered with this. I shall
enjoy hearing your screams.”
Adair worked his dry mouth, trying to bring some of the moisture back. He looked up at Dakin helplessly. He understood his
anger. Dakin was doing no more than his right. Hostages paid for their lord’s misdeeds with their bodies. Though his eyes
glittered with tears, he managed not to let them fall. His father owed Dakin a blood debt, and he was the payment. He could
expect no mercy.
“Have you nothing to say?” Dakin asked harshly.
“I am sorry about your cousin, Dakin.”
Dakin’s fist smashed into his mouth. “You have no right to use that name, Corydon slime!”
“My liege.” The fist struck again, knocking his head back onto the hard stone.
“Nor that. I claim no such subject. God! I took you into my household, trusted you, and this is how I’m repaid! Do you wish
to beg?”
Blood dripped from the corner of Adair’s mouth. He shook his head. “Would it do me any good, Lord King?”
“No more than it did my cousin. Your father will regret his treachery.”
“He will not care,” Adair said softly. “He never did.”
Dakin slid his dagger under the ropes around Adair’s chest, sawing through the tough fibers until they split. Adair fell backward,
groaning at the sudden return of circulation to his numbed arms. Dakin cut through the rest of his bonds, then stepped back.
“Stand up,” he commanded.
Adair struggled to stand, almost falling as he tried to remain upright on feet that hurt as if pierced by hundreds of glass
shards. He staggered, then caught himself, spreading his legs wide for balance. He rubbed his wrists and cautiously flexed
his back and shoulder muscles. Even if his limbs functioned, he knew, he didn’t have a chance. Not against Dakin. Dakin was
the best fighter Adair had ever seen.
Dakin stared at him with an intensity of expression that Adair didn’t understand. He wanted to look away but couldn’t. Dakin
was so close that Adair could see each hair of the fine stubble that darkened his face and smell the wine on his breath. Slowly,
Dakin raised the dagger and slid it under the thongs that laced Adair’s tunic. One by one, the blade severed the thin leather
strips, allowing the fabric panels to fall open, baring the smooth muscles of Adair’s chest. Dakin set the sharp steel point
at the base of Adair’s throat, pushing inward. Adair stopped breathing, waiting for the sudden prick and the cold fire of
steel driven into his flesh.
The pressure eased and the blade moved on, gliding slowly down his sweat-slick body. “Don’t move,” Dakin said. The knife slid
inside Adair’s breeches, and with a loud rip sliced the front of them open. The evening air was cool as it touched Adair’s
exposed, shriveled genitals. Dakin lifted them up on the cold, flat surface of his dagger. “Not much to look at,” he said
scornfully. Abruptly, he let them plop back into place and sheathed his weapon. Adair drew a long shuddering breath.
Grabbing the loose edges of Adair’s tunic, Dakin ripped it open. “I gave you this,” he said as he tore off the hunting finery.
“And these.” His powerful hands rent the already torn breeches. He jerked off the tatters of fabric, and Adair stood naked
before him, wearing only his riding boots and a medallion around his neck. Dakin held the emblem of his protection in his
fist. “You will not need this anymore.” With one yank, he snapped the thin gold chain and threw it on the floor. Gooseflesh
rose on Adair’s skin. He had never felt so naked and defenseless in his life. Dakin’s medallion had given him the freedom
and protection of the king’s favor. He had known that was already gone, but even the guards had feared to remove what the
king had set in place with his own hands.
Dakin took off his belt, running the leather between his broad hands. “The dungeon master will do a more thorough job later,
but I want to take you while you are still conscious enough to appreciate the privilege. I am going to enjoy this. I thought
about having you in my bed before. If you hadn’t been a hostage, you would have been there that first night.”
He stepped closer, his leather-clad leg brushing the inside of Adair’s naked thigh. He caught the boy’s jaw in his hand, his
thumb caressing the full lips. Adair closed his eyes to shut out the face that was so close to his. He trembled helplessly,
but not in fear. For so long, he had ached for this touch. As Dakin’s thigh rubbed against him, his cock started to fill.
His lips parted and his tongue touched the tip of Dakin’s thumb.
“You are beautiful,” Dakin said softly, almost regretfully. Then his voice and his hand hardened. “A pity that will soon change.
Move!”
Adair jumped at the sudden yell. Dakin shoved him toward the bed. Using the discarded ropes, he bound him upright between
the bedposts, arms high and legs spread wide. For a moment Adair panicked, struggling against his bonds and trying to free
himself. Dakin watched the lean body writhing in terror, muscles standing up in corded ridges as he fought with all his strength.
“So your family is cowardly as well as treacherous. I should have known.”
Abruptly, Adair ceased struggling, the scornful voice jerking him back to reality. He had known there was no chance from the
beginning. At least he could try to die well. “Just do it,” he said.
The first slash of the belt startled a moan out of him, but he refused to scream. He bit his lips until more blood dripped
down his chin. His back and buttocks were on fire with pain. The beating went on and on. He had no idea that his body could
hurt so much. He could hear Dakin’s heavy breathing between his own gasps and moans, and smell the rankness of his own sweat.
The pain blended into a hot glow, enveloping Adair’s body. To his intense shame, he felt his cock swell; the hardened rod
slapped against his belly with every blow. He was glad that Dakin could not see the front of his body.
The belt carved a pattern of pain across Adair’s body. Lines of fire laced across his body in an intricate pattern woven by
Dakin’s rage. At first, Adair tensed his body, trying to brace himself, but the belt always struck in a different place. His
muscles clenched and spasmed. As the belt thudded and slashed across his naked flesh, his mind was a red haze of pain. Too
exhausted to fight it anymore, his body hung motionless, except when shaken by the impact of the blows.
At last the belt stopped, and he listened to the harsh sound of Dakin’s breathing. The belt hit the floor, and he heard the
rustle of clothing. Even though he was expecting it, the first touch made him jump. Dakin wrapped his arms around Adair’s
body and held him still. “You can’t get away,” he growled.
Even past the fire devouring him, Adair felt the heat of Dakin’s body. The blunt knob of his cock prodded his balls. Dakin
held his hips firmly in place while the full length of his hard cock slid between Adair’s cheeks. Rocking back and forth,
Dakin let him feel the width and heat of his massive organ. Dakin’s hands moved across his back and ass, even the lightest
of touches making him quiver and moan in pain. He felt the cockhead prodding the tight opening. With a quick thrust of his
hips, Dakin seated the crown of his manly scepter just inside Adair’s anus. Adair groaned at the invasion. He had never been
used this way. For a moment, the pain made him forget the agony of his back.
Dakin laughed. “Tight, just the way I like it. But it won’t be after I get through with it.”
Adair tried to get his mind away from what was happening to his body; he tried to imagine himself being somewhere else, som
eone
else. He couldn’t do it. The reality was too painful and too intimate to escape.
With a sudden lunge, Dakin speared into him, sinking his entire cock deep inside Adair’s bowels. Adair screamed.
“I knew you would do that. I wanted to hear you scream as my cousin must have screamed.”
Dakin jerked his cock completely out and slammed it back in, over and over, until Adair’s screams faded to whimpers. He was
fucked brutally, the hard cock driven into his ass with no lubrication but his own sweat and Dakin’s precum.
This was not the man he had known, the man he had started to love for his courage and his generosity. Dakin was a ravaging
animal, taking his revenge against an enemy for hurting one of his own. Dakin rammed into him, hammering his loins against
Adair, striving not for pleasure but for punishment.
With a final lunge, he came. His arms wrapped tightly around Adair; his hairy chest and belly pressed against the boy’s back
as shudders of pleasure convulsed his body. For several minutes, Dakin didn’t move, resting close and warm against Adair’s
pain-wracked body. His gasps ruffled Adair’s hair, his breath hot against Adair’s ear and neck as the final spasms rippled
through his body.
Adair broke then. Sobs tore his chest and tears streamed down his face. In spite of the pain, he welcomed even this contact
with Dakin’s body. Bending his head, Adair touched his lips to the powerful arm circling his shoulder—intending to show forgiveness,
acceptance? He didn’t know; he just knew he didn’t want it to end like this.
Dakin pulled back as if struck, jerking his cock painfully from Adair’s sore anus. Adair felt empty and cold. He hung his
head, not trying anymore to silence his tears. Dakin cut his bonds. He slumped to the floor, waiting in despair for further
humiliation, or to be handed over to the guards’ pleasure. Dakin dressed quietly. Adair felt him bend over him for a minute,
but Dakin said nothing and didn’t touch him. Then, to Adair’s surprise, Dakin walked away and shut the door behind him.
Suddenly, Adair was angry—to be used like that, then left without a word while Dakin walked calmly away as if nothing had
happened. He hadn’t even bothered to retie him. Obviously, he thought Adair was no threat. Just like his father, Dakin thought
that since Adair didn’t like killing he was weak.