A Princely Affair

Abject and unprecedented boredom was at the forefront of my mind as I watched the precession of nobleman and their families pour into the throne room of Saint Peter’s Basilica. The magnificent building was adorned with priceless artwork from the most famous of painters, however even their grand spectacles could not seem to rouse me from my sullen state. My father, Emperor Conrad the Second, sat upon his throne before those entering, his imperious gaze settled upon them as though they were ants and, from the elevation of his throne, they might indeed seem to be. Gisela of Swabia, my mother, in all her blond beauty sat far below at his side and carried on a hushed conversation with the nearby Pope who seemed quite displeased his authority had been ceremonially supplanted in his own holy house. I felt a smirk grow at that thought: father had made sure his throne was taller than the Pope’s and now the so called holy man was grumbling like a prince who had been denied the activity of flogging a rowdy servant. Before me, though, the scene continued, unchanged: a nobleman would stride up to the base of the throne, bow, turn around and leave with his family waiting for him. At first father had seemed to enjoy watching them all scuttle for his approval, but now he had seemed to find interest in the sky outside the parted doors. The throne room, though magnificently bright and cheerful, seemed to me to be weighed down by the inflated egos all around, though I knew the look in my father’s eye since I had it in my own: he had to urinate. Badly. It was a problem one did not think would come to the Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, Europe’s greatest bloc of nations, but even this great man whose crown weighed so much that it injured one’s neck had to relieve themselves from time to time.

It was then that something interesting occurred: the herald called out an unexpected name that left muffled shocks echoing: “Introducing His Majesty Harold of the Kingdom of England!” Father rose from his throne ever so slightly and I felt my own jaw go slack. The King of England had come to father’s coronation?! ‘Madness, surely,’ I rationalised to myself, ‘Harold would never come to bless father’s coronation: the westerners never come to Emperor coronations…’ The entire throne room fell silent as the King of England slowly made his way to toward the throne. Garbed in magnificent azure and gold robes with a cape that trailed six feet behind him, he carried his long sceptre like a cane and with a subtle adjustment of his long blond hair from under his finely hewn crown, he smiled gallantly at all. King Harold, however, was met with a less than pleasant reception: those from the western nations of our empire leered and many uttered slander in their native Germanic tongues. Moreover, this brazen western king had the audacity to bring his children and wife in with him! ‘This cocky blasphemer,’ I grinned to myself as I saw his two children: one, a young girl, likely the Princess no more than ten, donned a fine gold dress while at her side was the Prince of England. I had heard a great deal of this infamous Prince from my friends in Hamburg, but to see him in the flesh was something else: he wore complete black, as though he had come to mourn a fallen loved one, and his black hair was long and he wore it in waves down to his shoulders. A circlet was placed upon his head and he grinned at those he walked by, winking devilishly at a few. Outrage and appal filled me as I watched this cocky fellow make his way toward the throne with his father.

Father sat there, his frigid verdant gaze bearing down into his competitor, the King of England. “Greeting, Emperor Conrad the Second of the Holy Roman Empire!” The man called out joyously before turning to the Pope, “Your Eminence, t’is an honour” and with a respectful bow to John the Nineteenth, our pudgy little pawn of a Pope. Conrad then turned to my mother who looked upon him as though he were an ant to be crushed, and once more, with a respectful bow, “Lady Gisela, as lovely as ever I see.” It was then that the man looked to me, “Prince Henry the Third, I assume? You truly are your father’s son,” the man smirked haughtily at me, and I felt the urge to spit on him. The King of England should be so lucky to speak to me! I am the future Emperor, not some English shit in his dirt streets. His wife, the Queen, a woman’s name I could not recall, merely nodded, though it was his son, Edgar the Second, who caught my attention. The black garbed fellow looking to be but a few years past coming of age stared deeply at me, and I felt incredibly uncomfortable under his gaze. His dark eyes seemed to bore into my hole and I wished deeply for him to simply go away and leave me to watch his father enrage the Holy Roman Empire’s Emperor. “I’ve come to congratulate you on your coronation, Emperor, and to extend England’s tidings of joy and kindness personally.” More gasps could be heard from the aristocracy and nobility alike behind the man, and the Imperial Guard held their spears worriedly, eagerly awaiting the order to spill royal blood. Awkward silence befell Saint Peter’s Basilica as father stared holes in the King before him. Everyone knew the kings of the Empire swore fealty to him, but what of a King from the west? ‘What’s coming next, the King of France or Leon?’ I thought dryly to myself, though then was reminded of the disturbing youth still staring at me. Settling my gaze on the fellow below, I met his gaze, my own azure orbs meeting his dark ones and, at my responding to his challenge, a smirk grew on his lips.

~*~

Father was smart and announced that he had invited Harold and his family to share in the festivities, and that they were honoured guests of the Imperial Diet, father’s Parliament. Though, following the conclusion of the coronation, I then found myself seated uneasily in one of the many sitting rooms in the Imperial Palace. The room was comparatively small and consisted of countless rows of bookcases filled with codexes, scrolls, books, and a lavish table carved from a white wood and flanked on either side by a high backed chair. Still adorned in my regal best, I did my best to look the part of a future Emperor: a leg loosely crossed over another, my white slacks smooth and clean with my elaborate crimson doublet fitted perfectly. My crown felt crooked, though I would not fuss with it, for the ever impertinent Prince Edgar sat across from me with that perpetual grin of his face. “You haven’t made your move, Henry.” He chided playfully, though his jovial nature only furthered his seemingly ulterior motive to anger me. “You Romans are supposed to be good at this game, you know.”

At such provocations of me being Roman, I felt my composure slip for a moment: “I am not Roman, I was born in Speyer.” With that quick correction, I returned my attention to the chess game before us, “And this game is Spanish or Italian, if I recall. Not from around here. If anything you should be better, by your logic.” Not only was speaking his language difficult, it was even more difficult to remain focused as his devious gaze continually bore into me, evidently amused by my anger. Moving my bishop into position, I forced his king into check, “That is check, Prince Edgar.” I endeavoured to be as formal as possible with the man before me, though even calling him a man was a courtesy undue: he was no more than twenty years old and certainly did not look a day past eighteen. It was a curse of the English, perpetually looking boyish with their dark hair and pale skin. I, on the other hand, with my father’s dark blond hair and my mother’s azure eyes, looked every bit the future Emperor. Edgar, however, looked no more fit to rule than the boy who changed my chamber pot. 

However my English counterpart’s eyes flashed dangerously at my words and he dropped his hands, cupping his knees loosely before he pushed himself to a stand. I wondered if I had offended Edgar, but the young Prince did not turn to leave the room and instead walked over to me. Pushing the chessboard back and seating himself upon the edge of the table, he discarded his crown on the same table as he settled into sitting uncomfortably close. “You are a feisty little imperial, aren’t you? All accents and anger. A true future Emperor from the Rhineland.” Edgar leaned ever closer as he crossed a leg loosely over the other, somehow finding his way into sitting between the gap of my own legs and the negative space between my seat and the finely crafted table. Slowly pushing my chair back, I cursed its elegance, for it simply weighed too much to move unnoticed, and would instead let off a horrific amount of noise as it moved. As I pressed my hands against the armrests of the seat, Edgar moved closer, placing his own narrow digits over my own and forcing his lips against mine roughly.

My eyes flew open wide with shock and I jerked backward in my seat, separating the unexpected kiss. With a heart racing without repose in my chest, I gripped the armrests of my seat fervently only to find the hands that had covered them tighten ever so slightly. Evidently my princely counterpart had expected such a reaction, and, as I went to protest the indignity of his actions and the immoral nature thereof, I simply could not will the words to my lips, as though they had been paralysed by the touch of the others. I had had a few suitors in my life, though none of them seemed to progress any farther than our first meeting, as my equally critical father or myself would find irrevocable flaw with the woman in question. Most often I had been quite tasteful in my vocalising of such and the suitor would return from whence they came, though today I was not so eloquent and I merely sat there akin to an insect caught in an arachnid’s web, vainly struggling against my inevitable fate. Prince Edgar, however, remained ever the poised individual, the spider of my metaphor, as he stood there over me, his hands strangely warm against my own. “Well then,” He said, that signature smirk of his returning to his face, “I think you liked that.”

Heat rose to my face in embarrassment and anger as I sought to refute him, but with one caress of my right hand my words failed once more, and I felt my lower lip quiver in confusion as a strange sensation took hold. It was as though part of me seemed to… enjoy the Englishman’s touch. Revolted at my buckling to the perverted advances of the foreigner, I jerked my hands away and stood abruptly: “What in the hell do you think you are doing?” I questioned fervently, “How dare you defile the Prince of the Holy Roman Empire so!” With regal tenure in my voice I stood poised and firm, my gaze settled on the perverse man before me. However for all my masterful posturing, he did not seem affected in the slightest and continued to stare with that look of a wild beast. “You’re a madman, Prince Edgar and I demand you leave the Empire immediately.” My word carried great weight wherever I went and it would not have been the first time I banished someone, though the royal before me did not seem to care in the slightest. Raising my nose into the air staunchly, I stared down the raven garbed man before me, taking his likeness in critically. Lithe and handsome, he was typical of a crossbreed between the Scandinavians and the English, as he was the successor to the Scandinavian conquerors of England. His black hair had been pushed back, revealing his high cheekbones and pointed jaw, giving him a nigh-Greek likeness. As I took in his person, I could feel my anger beginning to fall. What was I feeling? It was maddening to not know and I knew that, as every second fell away, he was gaining the upper hand in whatever game he was playing. Insistent upon not being made a fool of in my own sitting chambers, I stepped forward, grasping him by the silken collar, bringing him forward. “You and your inferior ilk would be wisest to leave our company before something unpleasant occurs.” I warned.

Alas, my fellow prince was not intimidated so easily and merely laughed coolly, slowly wrapping his hand around my own and pushing it away. “I don’t think you’re in a position to make demands of me, your highness,” he mocked. Once more I felt my face flush in embarrassment from how correct he was. I was flustered and confused while he stood, the champion of the situation and of himself. Determined to not allow him any more of the upper hand, I curled my fingers around his and pressed forward, pushing my lips into his. His dark eyes went wide with surprise and I felt a grin come to my mouth. However it was a strange thing for me: as much as I did what I did for the sake of taking Edgar off balance, part of me… enjoyed what I was doing. I felt my eyes close as my heart beat ever faster in my chest, threatening to explode outward should I not temper my actions. Letting my free hand covet his lower back, I pulled the ever willing English royal closer and angled my head. Evidently more than willing to reciprocate my gestures, I felt his free hand grasp the back of my doublet roughly, knotting it in his hand as I felt his tongue intrude into my mouth. It was an unfamiliar sensation, but something about it was entirely desirable and so, in the spirit of his reciprocation, offered the same back to him. We stumbled backward into the heavy table, the chess pieces scattering and some falling from the table, their weighted wooden likenesses clacking loudly against the hard floors. Separating my hand from his, I grasped his long mane of black hair and pulled greedily, eliciting a moan from my rival and revelling greatly in it. Though what had occurred was not meant to last as my breath failed me and I pulled away, panting heavily.

Edgar himself steadied himself on the side of his chair, wiping loose saliva from his mouth before giving me that hungry look I now realised was unveiled lust. “Well then,” he said, grasping his crown from where he had discarded it and placing it upon his head before speaking again, “That was interesting.” Suddenly feeling inferior, I took my own piece of ceremonial ornament and placed it high upon my head, silently revelling in that it looked much more impressive than the crown upon my counterpart’s head. Edgar sauntered forward, his dark gaze ever greedy and lustful as he looked me over, “I had heard the Prince was a handsome fellow, but the tales do you no justice, your highness,” he once more spoke one of my many titles with a point of devilish mocking. However I was far beyond hearing his coy remarks and instead felt a proud flush rise to my face as he spoke of my supposed fabled beauty. I felt as though I was a maiden being courted, but… the gentleness one might expect from a Prince was not there. He did not worry that he would harm me, and instead looked upon my like a hound a bitch and it was something I had readily grown tired of. I was not his tool for fornication and I would not allow myself to become such a thing, either. “Blond hair that shines like pale gold,” he spoke as he ran a hand through my short blond locks before letting his thumb graze the soft skin below my eye, “Sapphire blue eyes and such pristine skin.” He continually doted about me in that lusting voice of his: quiet and intense, he made his point evermore clearer. “And with the body of a Greek hero still in their youth.”

My case of not being made his maiden was further weakened as he spoke and, insistent upon not being labelled as such, I stepped forward to meet his gaze, placing a hand on his chest, only to find his heart beat wildly in the confines of his chest. Comforted that he too was nervous with the situation at hand, I let my hand drop, which seemed to calm the hungry look in his eyes before I deceitfully moved my hand ever lower, grasping him upon his engorging nether regions. Having elicited a throaty groan from him, I grabbed him ever firmer and pushed him against the wall, continuing my ministrations upon his mouth with renewed vigor as I cemented my place as an equal and not his plaything. As opposed to being offended or angry as I had suspected, Edgar seemed all too willing to play along and, before I had fully realised what he was achieving, the top two toggles of my doublet had been separated and allowed a cool air to rush in upon my exposed skin. Wasting no time to mete out upon our romantic battle’s newest war, I tore greedily at the fine, silk tunic he wore, snapping buttons off haphazardly and, after a moment, I left his upper body exposed. Hurriedly he forced my own royal garments aside, seeing them as merely an encumbrance to our aristocratic game of pent up lust and romance. Somewhere in the distance, I heard a door close, though paid it no heed, presuming it to be the cleaning staff in my adjacent reading room. However we had long since closed the door to the sitting room, and so I did not worry.The church had long since frowned upon open display of affection, and to be so liberal with our persons was intensely liberating and for myself, Prince William of the Holy Roman Empire, I knew I would want more.

~*~

‘I was just a toy,’ the words rang through my head as I hurried down the gilded halls toward the Emperor’s suite. ‘I was a toy and he used me like one.’ Pain and betrayal wracked my heart as I pushed my flagging body ever harder down the halls before finally relenting and breaking into a run. My breath came out in short huffs as I passed by surprised and annoyed dignitaries and servants alike, all of which shouting for me to stop. Though I had a more important engagement to attend to: the Emperor himself had to know that his son had been caught in a sinful abomination with the Prince of England! The Pope would be irate and call for execution and, right now, that was exactly what my heart desired. I had seen them through the door left ajar from the reading room in fits of passion and love that I thought Prince William and I would share alone. Tears welled at the corners of my eyes as I rounded the corner, thought I wiped them away, determined to not smear the credibility of my case by looking distraught. At last, as the grand halls expanded ever wider, I was met by the sight of the four guards blocking the closed doors to the Imperial Suite. The massive doors loomed over all, painted with an imposing black that seemed to block out the sun’s happy radiance upon what was once a triumphant day for the man inside. Out of breath and with muddled thoughts, I sputtered out: “The Prince… I must inform… Imperial Highness, the prince…” One of the guards stepped forward, the others placing their gloved hands upon the hilts of their swords, should I be an assassin.

“Find your breath and speak then, servant,” the approaching guardsman instructed. Letting my breath come in and out rapidly, I simply allowed myself the time to recover as the four armed individuals stared me down warily. Garbed in grand silver chainmail with ornamental plates of polished steels, they wore proudly tabards depicting the double headed eagle of the Emperor’s banner upon a golden background. I righted my stance and stood tall, brushing dirtied brown hair from my eyes before bowing deeply to the guards, only to have the locks fall in my face once more. Being a servant not often seen in public venues, it was deemed by my superiors that I was unfit for regular haircuts and so I had let it grow long and merely let it hang in a messy part. Garbed in the traditional smock of a royal house servant, I smoothed out my linen doublet and found that, though they had calmed, the guard looked impatiently at me. Glancing out one of the many windows that led up to the Imperial Suite, I could see the endless tone buildings of Rome spread out all around the hill that Saint Peters’ sat upon.

As I spared a glance outside, I recalled that the guard had not known my purpose and so I finally spoke: “I must speak with the Emperor or have one of you fine sirs forward a message to him. His royal son has been found committing adultery with the foreign Prince Edgar of England.” Simply stating it so bluntly saw a few silent gasps escape the mouths of the guards, all of whose eyes were suddenly trained intensely upon me, silently inquiring for more information. A part of me resisted for a moment, but bitterness was a powerful thing and I felt my mind turning against any mercy left in me: ‘The prince said he cared for me and that he would be faithful to me. But he lied… He lied and I’ll show him that consequences have actions!’ Nodding once, I felt my mouth create a decisive frown as I spoke once more: “Indeed. While cleaning the prince’s reading room, I heard a peculiar noise from his sitting room. Worried he was ill, I looked inside to find he and the foreign prince engaged in actions only meant for a man and his wife under god’s jurisdiction in this, Saint Peters’.” One of the guards nodded with me, looking appalled. The guard who had approached me nodded once before turning and gesturing for his fellows to join him in congress. The four spoke quickly, passing hushed and hurried words between them before they turned on ceremony and faced me, their expressions now eerily neutral.

“I will inform His Imperial Majesty of this. Thank you, servant, the Emperor may call upon you and any others who have seen such things in his deliberation of what must be done.” With that, the man turned back to the doors, knocking loudly, “Your Imperial Majesty! Pardon the interruption, but shocking news has come and it pertains to matters close to your divine heart!” The man proclaimed grandly. Looking back to me, he gave a dismissive nod, “You may go.” Resistant upon leaving, I contemplated merely standing there and awaiting the Emperor’s judgement, hungry to see the betrayer of my heart be hauled off. Though, knowing my place all too well, I bowed once more and took my leave, assured that the Emperor would broach no love for a son who committed such acts with an enemy prince, of all men. Turning and leaving, I recalled the first time he and I had shared a bond like he had just done with Prince Edgar:

Lust had filled his visage as his closed gaze remained fixed upon nothing. He panted and his breath came out in stifled gasps as the exposed muscles in his body flexed and tensed repeatedly with every motion. Pale skin, flush with sweat and lust, Prince William of the Holy Roman Emperor had fervently pleasured himself – until my entrance into the room. I had knocked loudly and repeatedly but, assuming the prince was asleep, I decided it would be impertinent to leave his garments in disarray for the following day and so I opened the door. Though what I found was not a resting royal, but instead a panting prince caught in the sinful act of masturbation. It was a sight none would ever see: a royal mid self-pleasuring and I knew that I enjoyed the sight. However, after what seemed like an eternity, his shut gaze opened and lidded azure eyes widened abruptly at the sight of my person, openly gawking at his naked form. The royal man pulled covers high, concealing his person and engorged privates, however the damage had been done and I knew that it was my godly duty to report it to the church. Tearing my gaze from the pleasing sight, I turned to flee, but was stopped as Prince William spoke up: “Wait!” He called out desperately and it was as though I had heard his words and simply not comprehended. Resting my hand on the door handle, the prince called out again. “I order you to wait!” He commanded. Dropping my hand, I turned around and faced the prince who was now clumsily garbed in a discarded bed sheet drawn about his narrow waist.

The sight was indeed a pleasurable one, for I felt my own body react to it. Shifting uncomfortably in my standing position, I, without realising, drew attention to what transpired in my own trousers and the Prince’s eyes bulged. “Yes, my prince?” The words came out shakily and I cleared my throat, endeavouring to cement my person in this moment to not come off as perverted or offendingly meek, as I had learned that the Prince did not appreciate quiet people and found it to be disrespectful. He enjoyed conversation and company and, currently, evidently, would not allow the situation to grow more awkward. However, Prince William did not speak and instead stood there, worrying the silk fabric in his hand as he stumbled for words. Taking a step forward, I spoke more calmly, “Is there anything I can do for you, your highness?” The royal man, having had just come of age, merely stood there, contemplating his words.

Slowly moving back to his bed, he took a seat on the edge. “Yes, there is. I order you to come here.” I placed myself before Prince William who ran a hand through his blond hair, chuckling to himself. Taking me by the wrist, the near nude royal sat me next to him. “I could see what stirred in your nether regions, and to have my indiscretions leave this room would be highly detrimental to my claim to the throne. I cannot allow my cousin to take the throne, the man’s a psychopath.” He looked to me, smiling a ghost of a smile, “You understand, don’t you?” With a pat of my leg, I felt a nervous heat grow in my person once more. “And so, I apologise for bribing you so, but I need your word that you will not speak of this. Do I have it?” With a mere nod, the prince seemed satisfied. Abruptly leaning toward me, he placed a chaste kiss against my lips. “That’s a unique feeling… you feel so much better than all those prissy noble girls.” He spoke, the heat of his breath against my face. Placing a smooth hand on my shoulder, he pushed me back, discarding his failing form of clothing, that being the bed sheet. “I order you to enjoy this…” He said in a worried tone, but laced with the confidence of a self-assured royal.

~*~

I had been manacled and chained to one of the parapets, made to watch from afar as Will was brought out. In Saint Peters’ Square, the gallows had been set up, prepped for his arrival. My own father has disinherited me and apparently I was to be banished to Whales where I would live out the rest of my days in poverty and anonymity. Though I couldn’t care less for what would happen to my titles and my inheritance: I never wanted to be king, it was a position fraught with early death and stress uncounted. I had only known Will for a few hours, but already I knew he was deeply special to me. He and I understood one another in a way that only two who loved each other both physically and spiritually did. We had never spoken the words, but they never had had to be spoken. We had consummated our kinship through life giving fluids and so I didn’t see any necessity. After his initial shyness, he had turned out to be incredibly aggressive and had made our encounter all the more pleasurable, but now he was to be hanged for crimes against the church. Thrashing against my bindings, I found them all too secure, “Let him go, I demand it as Prince of England!” I shouted. One of the guards to my side delivered a cured leather boot to my knee and I felt the joint shudder before collapsing and I subsequently sagged against the pole that my manacles were shackled to.

Limping upward, I saw the growing crowd of commoners amassed. Jeers and boos sounded as those nearby had already caught wind of what had happened. Will had not yet been brought out, for he was being prepped for the execution, mandated by the Pope himself and approved by none other than Will’s Emperor father. Minutes passed into hours as I stood there, half slung up through the restrictions upon my person due to my injured knee, though Prince William was not brought out. Hope filled me as I looked on, “Maybe the Emperor changed his mind…” I murmured to myself. Ignored by my captors, I silently prayed to the god that had evidently judged me so cruelly as to make me watch William’s hanging for mercy. Mercy for him and instead judgement for I in his stead, I pleaded desperately in silence. The hours passed and more and more commoners and servants amassed, eager to see a royal put to death by his own father. For a moment I condemned the Romans for their cruelty, but part of me knew all too well that, were this discovered in my own homeland, it would be no different. I would be put to sword and Will to watch. It was a cruel world and I hated it.

Finally the crowd erupted in cheers and boos alike and I looked around, hoping dearly it was not for the reason I suspected. Alas, I was left bereft of thought as an all too familiar figure was brought out from the palace. Garbed in filthy rags, Prince William of the Holy Roman Empire stumbled forward, bloodied and beaten, as he was dragged by a set of uncaring guards. “No!” I shouted, “Run you idiot!” I commanded angrily. This time I heard the ring of a sword as it was drawn from it scabbard and held to my neck. “Go ahead, you knave, slit my throat.” I hissed coldly at the guard who merely stared at me, surprised. William mounted the gallows and had the noose drawn loosely around his neck. The declaration of his death did not fall upon my ears for, as he was facing, he could see me and I felt his sapphire eyes staring into mine. “Hey, Will…” I shouted, “We will be reunited!” I grinned at him, and he offered me a wry smirk. Our gazes never fell from one another as, what sounded to me to be, a deafening creaking of wood saw the trap door below his feet give way and his neck instantly snap against the bound rope around his throat.

With legs thrashing, his brilliant azure gaze remained locked with mine and, as life left his person, I could almost see the brilliance that was his spirit leave the cruel world of men and their unjust laws. Without even looking to the man, I lurched forward and sideways, forcing the sword deep into my neck and slashing it. Blood filled my throat without repose and I sagged against the pole, determined to have my last sight be the one who had changed my life. As my eyes grew dark and my heart stilled, I could hear a faint voice in the distance:

“Well, that was quicker than I expected.”