Chapter 1: Slave Only Dreams To Be King
Chapter Text
– December 7. 1437 –
IT WAS A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT, the rain was pouring outside, the heavy droplets were knocking against the window, their song like iron fists hitting it, the rhythm akin to a heart’s beating. There was no sign of the moon – black clouds were eclipsing it, the only sign of light was from the fireplace, it’s warm, orange tendrils of lux gently caressing the floorboards and the weary face of the old king. He was thinking on ringing the bell standing on the intricate bedside table, to signal the end of his life, and call in the court doctor.
There was a soft, gentle knocking on the door.
“Who is it? Yes?” he called. He faintly remembered he had someone who wanted to speak to him at this hour, arranged a few days ago. His mind lost it’s sharpness, the illness consuming every part of his body, not being merciful on his brain either – sometimes he forgot even the name of his daughter, until she introduced herself again.
The door slowly creaked open, revealing the figure of a young male, couldn’t be older than twenty. His long, feathery white hair was cascading down his back in puffy curls, his face similarly pale, cherubic in quality. His eyes were a beautiful, bluish gray which seemed to bore into his soul.
***
Griffith took a deep breath, fixing the ribbons on his light blue doublet, standing straight. Then he bowed, his long hair following his head’s movements, almost touching the parquet.
The king’s bedchamber was grandiose, it’s ceiling adorned with intricate carvings, supported by straight, imposing pillars, the stone walls standing unmovable. They were decorated with beautiful tapestries, made by the best craft men of the continent. In the center of the room was an elaborate, firm, huge bed, with four dark brown wooden beams, tulle curtains hanging from it, the figure of the fragile man in the bed somewhat masked from them.
“Good evening, your majesty, I’m sorry for my disturbance at this hour,” Griffith said, his voice a silent whisper to not hurt the old man’s ears.
The ailing king regarded Griffith with a weak smile, one that concealed his weariness.
“Griffith… No need to apologize. In these days, I appreciate the company. Please sit by my bedside, I can’t see you properly,” he murmured, letting out a small, pathetic chuckle, trying to hide his true feelings. He gestured to a wooden chair besides the bed, looking at the young man with his weak eyes. “I assume you didn’t come to see an old man in his final days to talk about the weather. Is there something on your mind?”
“Well, there is, Your Majesty,” Griffith said as he sat down on the chair, with straight back and crossed legs. His virile youth was finely contrasting with the king’s age. “As far as I know, the Kingdom has no heir.”
Griffith was right – Midland had no heirs. None. Count Julius was by assassinated by him years ago, along with his small son. What was his name? Adrian, or Adam, maybe? It was all part of the plan, and if today’s visit will go well, there won’t be any kind of barriers between him and the royal throne.
The king nodded slowly, the weight of his years evident in the valleys and planes of his face.
“Indeed,” he said, trying to hold back a cough, “A throne without an heir… It’s an uncomfortable position for Midland.” He let out a tired sigh, eyes closing for a breath of a time, before looking at Griffith. “The court, the peerage, they all whisper about it. They are like vultures, waiting for my last breath.”
“True,” Griffith nodded, “like vultures. I have a feeling of… Once the inevitable happens, an inheritance war is about to break out. A year after winning the war with the Tudor Empire, and there is nobody… to protect Charlotte,” there was a subtle tilt in his voice. He knew he had to be very careful from now on. Charlotte told him everything about her father, how sick he was – both in body and in mind. Someone like him wouldn’t be fond of another male claiming ownership over his daughter.
That girl wasn’t the smartest – she was pretty, of course, a nice piece of arm candy besides a more competent man, who could rule over this damned country. She was more occupied with drawing, reading animal tales and having tea parties with her court ladies. She was seventeen, a grown woman almost, yet possessing the mind of a child. Griffith knew women who had their second, third child at this age, comparing Charlotte to them seemed absurd and ridiculous.
The old king nodded weakly, a resigned expression on his face.
“Like jackals circling around the dying prey,” he rasped. “And Charlotte… She’s still so young, so innocent. She doesn’t understands how politics and the hunger for power works.”
He looked at Griffith, their eyes meeting.
“You’re a perceptive young man, you see the situation well. I wonder, do you have a proposal in your mind, a way, to… deter the vultures?”
“Maybe,” Griffith began, “I could… take care of her. Only if Your Majesty allows it, of course,” the boy bowed his head in respect for a few moments. “Protect her from the vultures, the jackals. If you see me fit for this noble deed.”
He closed his eyes for a few seconds, hoping for the best.
Who could be it, if not him? The other potential suitors were old and overweight, Griffith was young and beautiful, lively, a skilled military tactician. He did the impossible, capturing Fort Doldrey with five thousand soldiers. He wasn’t a nobody anymore. After the war and the peace negotiations, the King raised him to the rank of a marquess, and gifted him with an estate and land near the Northern See. He had something on his name. He just had to hope the old man forgot about his common blood.
The king regarded him with curious, tired eyes, his mind mulling over the offer.
“Could you… Protect Charlotte, you say?” he murmured, his voice intrigued. “You’ve proven your loyalty and abilities at the field of war, and let’s be honest, the other suitors aren’t really… fitting for my daughter.” he let out a deep sigh, “But, you must understand that marrying my daughter isn’t just about protecting her from vultures, and political machinations. It’s about… heirs, the continuation of the royal bloodline.
“Exactly,” Griffith nodded, “It’s not something anyone is worthy to.”
The king leaned against the pillows, a small groan escaping his chappy lips. He closed his eyes, as if he was collecting his strength to speak again. “My daughter… deserves the best, and only the best.”
His eyes opened again, meeting Griffith’s porcelain blue eyes. “You understand the weight of this, don’t you? Not just the burden of protecting Charlotte, but the responsibility of continuing the royal line.”
He took a deep breath.
“I need to know if you’re able to provide that.”
“I believe… I’m able. But I will only act on it, if Your Majesty allows me to,” Griffith whispered.
The king’s eyes softened at Griffith’s words, a hint of weariness in his gaze. “You’re quite confident,” he mused, a faint smile on his lips. He let out a dry cough, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion. “I have a feeling I should trust you, Griffith. But… There is one thing to discuss, one more concern...”
‘Please don’t bring up my origins, please forget about my family, please think I’m a noble…’ Griffith repeated the mantra in his mind with desperate hope. His dream was about to be handed to him on silver plate, and this could break that plate and make the dream fall on the ground. He felt chills running through him, an icy hand twisting into his hand.
“Before you’d start to worry, it’s not about your blood,” the King reassured, “I’m aware of your humble beginnings. It’s deeply personal to me, it’s about Charlotte…”
Suddenly Griffith felt much calmer, his body feeling warm and relaxed again. Though he was still tense, it was easier to mask now.
The king’s gaze held a hint of protectiveness as he looked at Griffith. “She’s my daughter, my only child,” he rasped, “she’s so kind, naive, untainted by the horrors of our world. I want to… no, I need to know if she’ll be in capable hands.”
His hand reached out and took a hold of Griffith’s clothed wrist with surprising strength. “Swear you will protect her.”
Griffith kneed on the ground, his head bowed.
“I swear…” he began, “I swear on my life that I will protect and cherish your daughter until the day I die.”
The king’s grip loosened, and a smile graced his lips.
“Good,” he murmured, “You swore an oath,” he let out another sigh, for the umpteenth time, his eyes closing momentarily before opening again. “I… I trust you, Griffith. You’ll make a good husband to Charlotte.” His hand let go of the young man’s wrist, his strength failing him. “Now please leave. Tomorrow will bring interesting developments, I believe.”
“As you wish, your majesty,” Griffith said respectfully, “and thank you for your trust.”
He stood up, bowed again and left the room. He looked at the two guards standing in front of the door for a few moments, their eyes meeting, and Griffith felt a small blush creeping over his face.
Walking through the empty halls of the royal castle he felt like he could jump, dance, run and throw cartwheels. He felt the weight of the crown on his head, the plush pillowing of the throne beneath his body as he will sit on it. After making sure nobody was around, he let out an excited little squeal and felt tears of happiness filling his eyes.
He did it. He’s going to be the next king of Midland. If he could go back in time, to his young self who was often doubting if it’s worth it silently weeping under the weight of unknown men for his dream, he would do it, he would take his hands in his, and tell him to keep enduring, keep going.
***
The next morning, Griffith was hurrying to the chapel. He couldn’t fall asleep and during the night, he met with the maid who delivered the castle’s priest’s letter. Opening it, it asked him to be at Chapel Accentor, the bigger chapel of the castle by sunrise. The King could drop dead at any given moment, so they had to be as quick with the marriage as they could.
He was wearing finer clothing, a white silk doublet embroidered with silver lining, with figures of intertwining foliage. It cinched his waist just a breath leaner, emphasizing his light build, while his shoulders seemed a tad broader by the stuffing of it. He wore light blue breeches with white stockings, and with a pair of delicate, white leather shoes with silver buckles, which knocked every time his soles collided with the marble floor.
He opened the huge door leading to the chapel. Chapel Accentor was an oblong, rectangular room. At the end were colored glass windows that bathed the air and furnishings of the chapel in a kaleidoscope of colored light. The walls were white, with solid dark brown stone columns on either side, meeting in an arch at the ceiling. Sculptures of birds on the walls, and benches lined the length of the altar. The altar itself was on a dais, a white stone table holding two long, thin candles on ornate candlesticks, with an ornate, portable-sized silver bell in the center. Behind the altar was a large carved wooden panel with a colorful painting of a star-eyed, snow-white hawk in the center. God flew high above the clouds and never descended among men. In front of it stood a carved stone statue, also of the Lord.
He respectfully bowed to the King, who was sitting in a carved chair, and to Princess Charlotte. The girl was in a long, pink dress, her face still a bit tired, it was obvious they woke her up not too long ago. He also noticed the home minister, Foss, in the first row. Probably he was the only person awake they could find, besides a few maids, who were sitting besides the round, bald man.
Father Heinrich, the castle’s priest who was an older, big-bearded man with a solemn expression motioned Griffith to join them.
“You’re very… punctual,” he said in a measured tone.
“I wanted to make a good impression,” Griffith said with a small smile on his face, as he hurried to the altar. The princess stepped in front of it, and Griffith did the same. He grabbed her hands in his. He felt a flutter in his chest, though it wasn’t the flutter of love, he felt no emotions towards Charlotte. She was the one who made it possible for him to become a king. He smiled at her.
Charlotte returned the smile, her cheeks tinged with pink blush, her long, brown hair undone. She was still young, her gaze full of innocence and naivety. Yet there was a glimmer of something in her eyes… maybe could it be fear?
The priest cleared his throat with a small croak, gaining everyone’s attention. He opened a heavy, ancient tome, the Holy Book, it’s weathered pages bearing a hundred years of faith, tradition and power.
“We are gathered here for a purpose,” he began.
Griffith stood still, in front of Charlotte. He passed a brief glance at Minister Foss, who was just blankly staring ahead of himself, not really interested by the ceremony. Griffith himself wasn’t a religious man, he believed people should twist their fates to their own will, instead of waiting for a star-eyed, all-knowing bird to do it for them.
He looked behind the altar, his gaze settling on the intricate hawk statue, Most birds were saint animals in Midland, and because of this he felt weirded out by the name “White Hawk”. He wasn’t keen on getting compared to God. It was like the star-shaped eyes of the animal were judging him.
Father Heinrich’s gaze sweeped across the gathered assembly. He inhaled, his voice resonating through the air of the chapel.
“May God who watches above in silence see you and not look away. May his gaze make your love a passage of flight, not burden. May you rise through the storms together and reach the sky. Today, you are not bound by the earth, but by air.In the presence of God and this gathering, we are here to join these two souls in holy matrimony, as two wings make the bird fly.”
He gestured to Griffith and Charlotte with his free hand.
“Charlotte Beatrix Marie Rhody Wyndham, and Griffith, Marquess of…” a brief pause as the priest glanced at the king, who nodded, “-of Holstein, shall fly together in the sacred institution of marriage.”
Griffith looked at Charlotte again, then at the hawk statue. He let his mind wander, his attention slowly drifting away. He found himself reflecting at the irony of the situation and his nickname, “White Hawk”, and the nature of his ambitions, rising higher and higher, like a bird, like a hawk, like God. He couldn’t help but feel kinship towards that bird, who was flying above heavens, not bothered by humanity, like he was aspiring to reach the highest level of power a man can be in this world.
Charlotte’s eyes were fixed on the priest, a soft smile lingering on her lips.
“As God never descends among us, so shall your loyalty never fall to shadow. Birds fly farther in pairs, may your wings strengthen each other in storm and sun.”
The princess’ eyes met Griffith’s momentarily, before darting away again.
“Griffith, Marquess of Holstein, do you take Charlotte Beatrix Marie Rhody Wyndham as your wedded wife? To have and hold, to fly together with her from this day forward in storm and wind, in rain and in sunlight, til death do you part?”
“Yes,” Griffith said softly, as he held his soon-to-be wife’s small hands in his.
Father Heinrich nodded approvingly, a quiet smile playing on his lips.
“Charlotte Beatrix Marie Rhody Wyndham, do you take Griffith, Marquess of Holstein as your wedded husband? To have and hold, to fly together with him from this day forward in storm and wind, in rain and in sunlight, til death do you part?”
Charlotte swallowed, her cheeks blushing a bit more. She nodded, her voice hardly more than a whisper. “Y-yes.”
As he heard Charlotte’s voice, a warm feeling spread through Griffith’s chest. Not because he had a wife now, but because he gained the right to claim the throne, and he was the only one in the kingdom who had this right, and the current king could die in any given moment, so he could become the king in any given moment.
The altar boy he didn’t noticed yet – he was truly hidden behind the altar –, opened the window. He went in the small door on the wall of the chapel, returning with a fat, white dove, He handed the dove to the priest.
“We send your doubts into the sky. If they return, be strong… The sky tests the faithful.”
Griffith touched the bird, and Charlotte did the same. Then the father let the bird fly out the window.
“Now release the bird, and with it, the sorrow you bear.”
The chapel fell silent in the moment the bird took flight, gracefully gliding out of the window into the open air. It circled above the chapel a few times, it’s wings flapping gently, before disappearing between the clouds.
Father Heinrich smiled at the newlyweds, his eyes twinkling with approval.
“May the holy bird carry away any shadows of doubt, malice or despair, leaving only a path illuminated by the presence of God,” the male declared, with a tone of finality in his voice, which echoed through the wall. “You may now kiss the bride.”
Without any second thought, Griffith leaned in and kissed Charlotte. He thought, he never kissed a woman before, only men. He knew that this was bound to happen one day, but he never gave much thought to it. Charlotte’s petal-soft lips felt odd against his own, he didn’t felt any rough skin, stubble, or dryness, like what he was used to at men.
Charlotte’s cheeks turned a bright cherry red as they parted, and she started looking at a particularly interesting crack on the stone floor. There was a small sign of fear and nervousness in her, her slender fingers unconsciously fidgeting with the pink material of her dress.
Griffith let go of the girl’s hands, and looked at her father. There was a sour expression in the eyes of the old man, like he has lost something he used to own and hold. But as the King noticed Griffith’s staring, that look disappeared.
The air in the chapel felt heavy as the King’s tired eyes locked with Griffith’s for a moment. There was a subtle change in the monarch’s demeanor, his gaze bitter, as if saying goodbye to something. The old man quickly regained his composition, his features slipping back into neutralness. Griffith found this odd, a father was supposed to be happy when his daughter became a wife.
Minister Foss sat silently in his seat.
“Excuse me,” Griffith began, “But I have unattended business to do. I will return by sunrise, when my husbandly duties call,” he promised as he bowed to the King and to Charlotte – his wife.
The King nodded, his gaze on Griffith.
“Very well,” he responded, “take care of what you have to do, and return before night falls.”
Charlotte remained silent, her cheeks still flushed from the kiss. She managed a small smile and nod, acknowledging Griffith’s departure.
“Safe travels,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Griffith bowed again, then left the chapel.
Chapter 2: I Got Bullets In The Booth
Summary:
After his marriage, a lot of things await for Griffith, including telling the good news to his friends and a first night.
Notes:
Warning: This chapter includes dubcon sex and mild mentioning of rape.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
WYNDHAM WAS AN INCREDIBLY BUSY CITY AT THIS TIME OF THE DAY. Draft horses were pulling carriages through the dirty, stone pavements of the road, the stench of piss filling the air. Kids chased each other through the main street, tall, multiple-storied houses looming and casting shadows over the inhabitants of the city. A trail of unguarded chickens scratched at the dark corners of the houses, searching for bugs and crickets to feast on. A few merchants sold their merchandise on the sidewalks.
Of course, everywhere Griffith went, he was stared at. He was a beautiful nobleman (about to be a king soon), on a huge, white horse. He was better suited to a shiny palace, instead of the smelly, dirty streets of the capital.
He had a faint idea where his soldiers were. Most of them resided in local taverns for an unspecified time – until they leave – which wasn’t in the plan yet. He decided the first thing he’s going to do was to build more barracks to accommodate the Band of The Hawk. Though he only cared about one soldier.
The Little Lamb Tavern was situated in the heart of Wyndham, it was a tall, two-floored building with white walls, thick support beams and a tall, pointy roof, it looked like a renewal was in order. Dark green ivy covered the pillars like an unstoppable infection.
Soon he arrived, belaying his horse to one of the wooden fences, stepping into the pub.
The insides were dark, drunken patrons filling it to the brim, who – obviously – looked at Griffith like they never saw anyone prettier than him, which was probably true. A short chandelier hung on the ceiling, the candle wax dripping on the floor, leaving small, burnt spots on it. The men inside sang loudly about wars and conquests and travels and women, enjoying the company of barmaids.
Griffith, after fighting himself through the mass of the crowd, hurried into the second floor, trying to remember which room did his lover rented.
He knocked on the door which had a white, dingy number three painted on it. Mixed feelings were swirling in him, he didn’t know how will the man react to the news that Griffith, in fact, married to a woman.
“Enter!” A gruff voice was audible from inside, so Griffith did as he was told, he opened the door and indeed, entered the small room.
A feeling of warmth filled his heart at the sight of Guts, his beloved best friend, soldier, knight, most trusted confidant, comrade-in-arms, brother, lover, it was too much to enumerate…
The man was sitting on the rickety bed, cleaning his sword in nothing but his breeches, which set Griffith’s body aflame. It was always the same, anytime they shared space he felt a fiery spark running through his body. He harbored a lot of complex feelings towards Guts that he himself couldn’t properly name or understand. It wasn’t love, since that happened between a man and a woman, but it was akin to it. One thing was clear, he was attracted to him.
Guts’ scarred, tan skin was glistening with a faint sheen of sweat, which sent a shiver through Griffith’s spine.
The swordsman looked at him casually as Griffith closed the door, his expression betraying no emotions. “Good morning,” he murmured, “I see you’re here.”
“As I promised,” Griffith whispered, his voice almost worshipful. “Good morning, by the way,” he added, sitting down on the chair besides Guts’ bed. He remembered he sat the same way besides the old King’s bed yesterday evening, except Guts wasn’t old, but strong, healthy and virile. “I… I did it, Guts. I will become the king soon. I assured my right to the throne.”
A flicker of emotion swat through Guts’ stoic face. A mixture of astonishment, joy, and maybe even a soft hint of disbelief. He looked at Griffith, his deep brown eyes scrutinizing. Silence hung between them for a few breath of a time, until Griffith’s words sunk in. Then, slowly, a gentle smile spread over his handsome face, tugging at his lips. It was a rare sight, so Griffith cherished every one of these smiles.
“Congrats,” he said sincerely.
Griffith took a deep breath.
“I got married this morning to Princess Charlotte,” he slurred, closing his eyes for a brief moment as he prepared himself to the storm. He had to say the inevitable. Guts deserved to know it firsthand, and Griffith thought it will be better if he familiarizes himself with the fact of Griffith’s marriage this early. “Of course, that doesn’t change anything between us, I married her out of duty, you’re still the one I cherish,” he continued, but it was like he was trying to put a band-aid to a gun wound.
Guts’ eyes widened, his whole body tensing up. His hands balled into fists at his sides. The revelation seemed to hit him like a brick in the face. “You’re… married,” he mumbled, trying to accept the facts, “You’re married now and expect me to believe you love me?” he asked, his voice low but carrying sharpness, “You’ve got a wife now.”
‘I… I-” Griffith took a deep sigh. He knew Guts wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed when it came to interpersonal relationships, he often overreacted things and refused to consider other viewpoints besides his own. “I still love you. I never wanted anyone else in the way… in the way I want you, but it was necessary for me to marry Charlotte. I still love you, and you’re the one I hold close. Charlotte is just a tool,” it was incredibly painful and disgusting to say it out loud, it sounded indescribably cruel.
Guts let out a humorless laugh, his dark eyes locking into Griffith’s blue ones. His words were full of sharpness which cut through the air.
“A tool, huh? That’s all she means to you?” He shook his head in disgust. “You’re so… cold! You use people for your own gain,” he gritted, every word dripping with anger, “But this is what kings do, right?”
“Guts, it’s not about that-” his voice stilled for a moment, trying to say anything to save the situation. Losing Guts would’ve been unbearable for him. Without him, being a king felt meaningless. He couldn’t imagine his kingdom without being able to hold close his best friend, soldier, knight… It felt truly meaningless. “Listen, I had to do it. If I didn’t married her, I couldn’t become the king. Why can’t you understand it?”
Guts scoffed, crossing his arms.
“Understand it? Yeah, sure, I understand,” his words were full of hurt and anger, “You needed Charlotte to get the crown, so you got her.”
He stood up from the bed, towering over Griffith. “Don’t expect me to be okay with this. You’re married now, to a damn princess, no less. And ya say you love me? How the hell is that supposed to make me feel, huh?”
“Guts, I still love you, everything I do to her, is done of duty,” he said desperately, putting a hand on Guts’ muscular shoulder. “Because I have to… I won’t even consummate the marriage if you want,” he promised, but he had a feeling it won’t fix the situation.
Guts swatted Griffith’s hand away like a pesky fly, his eyes narrowed.
“It’s easy for you to say that now. But what about ten years from now? You really think ya will be happy havin’ a fake marriage?
“Guts, I don’t even like women!” Griffith was getting a bit loud now in despair, raising his arms in surrender. He just wanted Guts to understand his point. “If I could chose, you know I wouldn’t marry her.”
Guts let out a frustrated groan. “You don’t like women?” He repeated Griffith’s words then let out a laugh, a bitter one. “Oh please. You say you didn’t want to marry her, but y’did it. Does she know ya only got married for the title?” he shook his head. “You want me to believe that you won’t consummate the marriage? What if Charlotte wants it? You’re not the only one with needs, ya’know.”
“I’ll fulfill every need of yours, I do whatever you want!”
“You want to know what I want?” his voice was low, “I want… I want you to be here. With me. Without a wife. Every day, every night. I want you to want me. Not when it’s convenient, but all the time.”
“You’re the one I always want,” Griffith whispered, “I’m thinking about you non-stop, anytime when I’m awake and conscious, and even in my dreams, and…” his base instincts led him, and he knelt in front of Guts, his face a few inches away from his crotch. He never knelt for anyone besides the royalty, and here he was, kneeling in front of this commoner, Guts, the man he claimed to harbor feelings for. At this point he didn’t cared how pathetic he was. “I do whatever you want…” he repeated, his hands flying on the man’s hips, crawling closer to him.
Guts looked down at Griffith, his eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed. He put his hands on Griffith’s slim jaw, forcing him to stand up. “You wanna do whatever I want? Fine. Stand up, look in my eyes and swear to me you will never touch your wife,” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous.
“I think I can do that without words,” Griffith muttered, his eyes half-lid. His hands were on Guts’ rugged breeches, his delicate fingers unpopping the buttons one by one, his hand slipping beneath the fabric to fish out his length.
Guts sucked in a breath as Griffith’s white hands found their way to his crotch. He groaned, his grip on Griffith’s jaw tightening. “You… really expect me to trust you? After you got married to a woman behind my back?” he gritted out, trying to keep his voice even, “Words won’t be enough.”
Griffith freed Guts’ half-hard cock from it’s confines, and took it in his mouth, without any kind of foreplay. He gently stroked it with his tongue, moving it expertly, covering Guts’ member in slickness. He felt the heavy, thick musk of Guts’ body through his nose and it was like an aphrodisiac. The salty, sticky taste of skin was more than delightful.
He did it oh so good.
His head bobbed up and down, his tongue teasing and pleasuring him further, his other hand moving to fondle Guts’ balls. He worked with hazed eyes, sometimes looking up at Guts. He was truly like a professional at this.
“Oh, gods…” a low, guttural groan escaped Guts’ mouth as Griffith started. His hands moved to grip the back of the other’s head, holding him in place. He was in obvious pure bliss, but that didn’t seemed to be enough. He looked down at Griffith, their eyes meeting. “Ya’ better keep up your promise, then… Or I’ll be there, reminding you of it.”
Griffith pulled back for a brief moment, stroking Guts’ spit-slick, girthy dick.
“Remember you’re still mine,” he murmured lowly, “I tell you what to do, where to go, I even command you when to die…” he then continued with his task, taking Guts deeper and deeper, in his throat, without gagging. Small beads of tears welled up in his blue eyes, but he wasn’t one to complain with a cock in his mouth.
“I know-” Guts moaned, his hand fisting in Griffith’s hair. “You’re the only one I need…” He leaned his head back, closing his eyes. “You’re the only one allowed to do- oh… this…” he panted, his hips rocking forwards.
“That’s my boy,” Griffith pulled back, whispering between two licks, then he leaned to take Guts in his mouth again, almost worshiping him. Everything is about sex, except sex, because it’s about power and ownership, Griffith thought.
Guts moaned louder at the words, his fingers tangling in Griffith’s hair, tighter and tighter, trying to hold him in place, he was close, so close.
He leaned down, his eyes dark and intense as he looked down at Griffith. “You’re the only one who can touch me, do this to me…” he whined through gritted teeth, “You’re the only one who can make me feel like this…”
A few moments passed.
“Fuck…” Guts sighed, his chest heaving, “Griffith, I’m gonna…”
“It’s okay,” Griffith reassured, then took Guts’ cock as deep as he could, swallowing around him and taking everything he could.
Guts’ grip on Griffith’s silky, white hair tightened as he pushed him down further, his chest heaving. “I- I…” he tried to form a sentence, but the syllables got stuck in his throat.
His thighs started trembling as he fought to keep himself on two legs, trying to hold on as long as he could. “I can’t…” His voice broke off in a strangled moan as he finally reached his peak, his body tensing up. Warm, thick release hit the back of Griffith’s mouth, and he could feel Guts’ grip on his hair tighten, his breathing coming in labored gasps.
“Oh God,” Guts sighed, leaning against the wall to catch his breath. “I’m not done with you yet.”
“What’cha gonna do with me?” Griffith asked coyly, licking over his plump, pink lips. There was a small smearing of seed in the corner of his mouth. He dutifully swallowed every drop, just like a good toy should.
Guts looked down at the kneeling, petite figure, his eyes darkening with hunger, a hint of menace in them. He leaned down, taking a fistful of Griffith’s silk doublet in his grip. He pulled him up harshly, so they were standing only inches away from each other.
“You’re gonna pay for not talking with me before your marriage,” he snarled, his face so close to Griffith’s that their noses were almost brushing.
“Punish me, then,” Griffith whispered, sounding so needy. He let Guts toss him on the rickety wooden bed. He felt it creak beneath his weight. He landed on his stomach, over the edge, in the ideal position for getting fucked.
Guts growled as he pushed the slim male onto the bed, his face smothered into the mattress.
“Oh, I will,” he promised, his voice low and carrying a hint of danger. He reached forward and pushed the fabric of Griffith’s pants down, just enough to expose the white curve of his ass. He spat on his fingers to slick them with saliva. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes,” Griffith said, closing his eyes for a few brief moments. He could barely breathe with his head in the blankets, Guts’ firm hand on his nape. “This is… what I want.”
Guts ran his two fingers up and down Griffith’s crack, spreading his ass open. It felt different, doing this with a married man. But he wasn’t the best example of good morals. “Is this why you married that sweet princess?” He asked, sliding a finger inside the tight, pink heat, which immediately clamped down on Guts’ thick digit, “You know she could never take you like this. You need a man, you need me.”
“Yeah, ugh-” he gasped, “You’re right, she could never do this to me,” Griffith murmured, grasping into the soft bedding, his knuckled turning white from the effort. He pushed back against Guts’ hand with his hips.
Guts let out a chuckle, it was almost as funny as it was sinful. He had this man who was made to rule over nations, putty in his hand. Literally. He pushed in a second finger, stretching him open. He curled his fingers, hitting that spot that he knew would turn Griffith over a writhing mess. “You’re gonna forget about that girl soon, I promise.”
Griffith let out a needy whine, feeling leaky precum trickling on his thigh. He took deep breaths as the tips of Guts’ two fingers in his body repeatedly pressed into his most sensitive spot.
“Oh, Guts, oh…” he sighed, his eyes closing in pleasure. He felt his brain slipping into that fluffy, hazy, submissive state of mind where Guts could’ve probably do anything he wanted to do with him.
Guts let out a small groan, feeling tightness around his fingers. He pulled one out, then the second one as well. He spat into his hand again, to slick up his cock again. He lined himself up, feeling the tip pressing against Griffith’s entrance. Griffith himself was laying still, his body bent over the bed, his back curved in a beautiful, feminine arch. He let out a dainty sigh.
The bigger man pushed into Griffith without a word, slowly and steadily, until he was balls deep, owning him in body and soul. He let out a deep moan, closing his eyes and enjoying the sensation, throwing his head back. “You’re so tight,” he announced, “You can barely take me, I can feel it… Can you?”
“I can,” Griffith moaned, trying to take Guts impossibly deeper, as if he wanted to be one with the other man.
Guts started to move, pulling his hips back slowly, then thrusting back in, spearing Griffith on his thick cock over and over again, his hold on Griffith’s soft hips never easing. His hits increasingly got faster. “You’re made to take me…” he said, his pace quickening. One of his hands let Griffith’s torso and got tangled in a fistful of Griffith’s white hair, holding his head down on the mattress.
“Yes, yes,” Griffith uttered, his hands holding into the soft cotton of the bed sheets. At this moment, the only thing which mattered to him was taking Guts’ dick deep in him, he felt like he was made for this. He didn’t dreamed of crowns, thrones and castles right now, his mind was turning into warm mush. He was completely at Guts’ mercy.
Guts leaned on Griffith’s back, his stubble rubbing against the sensitive white skin of his neck. He took a deep inhale of his scent, fresh stream water, something floral and the rawness of mating.
“You’re so good,” he murmured as he pulled back, “taking me just right.”
He slid his other hand on Griffith’s front, stroking his length.
“Oh fuck,” Griffith whined, letting out a loud moan as Guts fisted at his hard manhood, he felt himself throbbing in Guts’ warm palm. He spread his thighs and rolled his hips forward, feeling like a needy bitch wanting to rut. Guts twisted his fingers around the tip, using the slick to make it easier.
“You’re like a toy… I know you would do whatever you want,” his thrusts pressed into that same spot every time, knowing it will get him the loudest moans from Griffith. His hands slipped lower, to his balls, rolling them playfully.
Griffith bit into the blanket, tears flowing freely from his eyes, from the sheer power of Guts’ thrusts, his body being showed forward with every of them, the smell of sex filling the room. Soon his thighs began to tremble, his back arching again.
Guts could feel his walls tighten around him. He knew his lover was close to the finish line. He wanted to feel the result of his doing, his conquer.
“I know you’re close,” he mumbled, keeping his hand on his balls, “You’re gonna come with me, aren’t you?”
“I- I will,” Griffith whimpered, as he squeezed his eyes shut. Everything felt so warm, like fireworks were popping inside his petite body, filling his flesh up with heat and light. It was like the cells of his cock were fusing together, his balls tensing, as he shot on the soft blanket beneath him, then fell limp, like a piece of rag.
Soon he felt silky, wet hotness exploding inside him, and with a gnarly groan, he knew Guts finished as well.
Griffith pushed himself up with a small sigh, his arms straining. He wiped off the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand, as he stood up, pulling up his breeches. He noticed the quite big stain of pearly white come on the bed sheets, and he let out an embarrassed chuckle. Then he marched to the washbasin, to freshen up. He splashed some lukewarm water on his face, and combed his wet fingers through his messy, white hair locks. He noticed the way Guts was staring at him.
”By the way, Guts,” Griffith began, sitting besides the other man, holding Guts’ big hands in his smaller, doll-like ones. “there’s something I wanna ask from you. Is there anything you want? Land, titles, an estate? Or rank of nobility? I can give you anything you want, or more.”
There was an uncertain expression on Guts’ face, then he rolled his eyes. “Are y’serious? Ya think I ever cared about anything like this?” he shook his hand. “I don’t need any of these things, y’know me well.” He leaned forward, assuming eye contact. Griffith suddenly felt naked, as if Guts was staring into the very depths of his fiery, ambitious soul. “Y’know… what I want. What I truly want. It ain’t cash or a castle.”
“Guts, that’s impossible,” Griffith whined in desperation, raising up his hands defensively. “I’ve been thinking of putting you to the head of the royal guards, or as my personal bodyguard. We can always be together, then. Is that what you want, right?”
Guts snorted in a mocking laugh, snatching his head away as he rolled his eyes. “So y’think I want to be a lapdog,” Guts mocked, “On your side day and night, running to yer’ whims, whenever y’want it, being on all fours for ya. Y’think this is what I want? Y’really don’t get it, don’t cha?”
“What do you want, Guts? Just tell me!” Griffith called out, getting tired of Guts’ behavior. He disliked this, the petty annoyance, the games, Guts casting shadows over his wants and desires. Why couldn’t he be honest for once? He tried his best to please his lover, yet nothing was good for him.
Guts stared at him incredulously. He was absolutely unconvinced.
“Oh come on. Are’ya serious?”
He scoffed.
“Y’think ya can give me something to compensate for the amount of service I’ve done for ya? After betraying me behind my back?” his voice was like a snake’s hiss, “Y’expect me to be okay with y’just havin’ me at your side at all time? Like a dog?” His eyes were dark as the night, “Is that the solution ya think I need?”
“Tell me what you need,” Griffith groaned, looking firmly at Guts. By listening to him complaining and poke on him, making fun of him, they didn’t go anywhere with this discussion.
Guts leaned closer, his sharp face inches away from Griffith’s.
“Well… I want ya to love only me. I want your heart… not yer’ body, or ass, or whatever.” he brought one of his hands up to Griffith’s chest, resting it right above where that blazing heart was.
“You know it’s yours, Guts,” Griffith whispered, laying his palm on Guts’ cheek. It felt way more intimate than sex.
Guts’ unwavering eyes stayed locked on Griffith’s.
“Don’t ever forget it,” he murmured. His fingers splayed out, feeling the soft silk of Griffith’s white doublet, the man’s heart steadily thumping under the tips of his digits.
For long moments, they stayed like that, neither of them moving. They just stayed still.
“I won’t.” Griffith promised. His heart beat slowly, steadily, pumping blood through his body.
Guts let out a low hum, his thumb slowly swiping back and forth, in a small caress.
“Good,” he nodded, “Don’t ever break that promise.”
---
Griffith could quickly find Casca, a few streets away, in a public house titled To the black lake. It was neatly tucked away in one of the back alleys, the door black as it’s name, tall, the top part rounded in a graceful arch, firmed by thick, steel straps.
Casca was outside in the garden. It wasn’t much of a garden, rather than just a long, thin strip of land surrounded by tall brick walls, with a few trees at the back of it, casting shadows on the snow on the ground.
“So you wanted to talk with me,” Casca began, leaning against a sturdy wooden pillar. “about what? I have some time to spare,” she stated bluntly. She wasn’t the type to beat around the bush. She wasn’t wearing any armor right now, just loose cotton pants stuffed into the umber-colored leather of her booths, and a thick fur coat to protect herself from the cold. It was obvious she didn’t cut her hair in a while. Red patches of blush appeared on her brown cheeks, it was obvious she wasn’t enjoying the weather.
“True,” Griffith nodded, staring at the gray forenoon sky. He hated winter with a passion, thought summer wasn’t better either.
“Well, Casca,” Griffith began. He wasn’t nervous, he knew Casca won’t have such a reaction like Guts. He decided to be just plainly honest, “The king is about to die, and this morning, I married Charlotte. You know what does that means.”
Casca was dumbfounded. She stood limply like a piece of wood, until small beads of tears appeared in her dark eyes. Griffith’s dream was above everything, as her dream was Griffith reaching his. It sounded incredible. All that pain, all that fighting, bleeding, struggling and violence on the battlefield they had endured together was worth it. Griffith reached his dream. Griffith will be the king.
A tear rolled down on Casca’s face, as she slowly stepped in front of the man, and embraced him, as she sniffled, trying to hold back her tears.
“Griffith..! I… I can’t believe it… That’s amazing, I don’t even know what to say-” she slurred, fighting her emotions.
Griffith gently wrapped his arms around the girl, pulling her closer to his chest.
“It’s alright, Casca… Why do you cry?” Griffith asked with a small chuckle, the sound like delightful little bells.
“No, Griffith… You don’t get it, my dream was helping you fulfill your dream, and…” she laughed, “it’s like killing two flies with one swat. We’ve been fighting for this, just remember the things you done, the things I done, what we… as all, done, as the hawks, for this. It’s… incredible,” she pulled back to look in Griffith’s silver-blue irises, their gazes meeting.
“I know,” Griffith sighed, though this was a happy sigh, “by the way, I thought… I will remove the current commander of the royal army and I will put you on his place. You proven your skills over and over again through the years spent in the battlefield, you surpass the most high ranking men in Midland’s military when it comes to leading your regiment. You’re the one who’s the most capable of this role,” he said with a warm smile on his face, putting his hands on Casca’s shoulder.
Casca’s reaction was what Griffith expected. She let out a small squeal, more tears trickled from her eyes, and she began to sob as she buried her face in Griffith’s chest.
“I… I don’t even know, what to say, Griffith… I never thought I will be the commander of the Army of Midland! I just… I’m a bit nervous the court won’t accept me, because I’m a woman,” she doubted.
“Don’t say such things, Casca,” Griffith reassured, “I will make sure everyone will accept you. And if they don’t… You just have to spar with them, and they will do,” he said with a small grin, embracing Casca again.
Women are just too emotional, Griffith thought.
---
“And then the prophet led me to a meadow, on the meadow, a huge hand sat, it’s fingers splayed out… On the hands, on four fingers, except the middle one, four huge crows sat…”
Griffith let out a small sigh, leaning against the back of the stone bench. He tried his best to appear interested in the holy mass.
As his husbandly duties called, Griffith was back in the royal castle by sunset. It felt weird walking in these halls. Soon every stone, every pillar, window, door, land, will be his. It felt like he was walking in his own home, which wasn’t true yet. Soon. Soon everything will click into it’s right place, when that old man finally dies, and he can claim the throne. He was in Chapel Accentor, in the castle. Before they lay the first night, the newlyweds and the court sat through a mass, that was the tradition.
Charlotte besides him seemed absolutely hooked, her eyes firmly on Father Heinrich, almost drinking the man’s words. Griffith wasn’t one who believed all those words which they written in the Bible. He liked things that could be hold by hand.
“Then I saw the White Hawk, glory and light be upon Him, flying through the bleeding sky, stopping in front of the black sun, His eyes not glinting. This was the fifth time the sky bled, this colossal feast arriving every 216 years… Then the hawk descended on the middle finger, and became the biggest, blackest crow of them all… A red lake was born, beneath the black sun.”
A small shiver ran through Charlotte besides him, who squeezed Griffith’s hand, looking at the man. She didn’t dared to do more, as they were in the first row, directly in front of the priest.
Soon the bells rang, signaling the end of the mass. The old king stood up and with slow, fragile steps, he walked in front of the door, turning forward, waiting for the court to follow him. Griffith quickly followed suit, along with Charlotte, they hurried behind the monarch as he led them into the tall corridors, the entire royal household behind them.
As far as Griffith knew, this was usually an event guided by loud singing, teasing the bride and the husband, but he assumed this was left out because of the King’s health. He could die at any time.
The march soon stopped in Charlotte’s bedroom. The King let out a sigh, and opened the door, but before they could walk in, Father Heinrich stepped forward.
He dipped his hand into a small flask of holy water, smearing it on both of their foreheads.
“What God brought together, may a storm not tear apart,” he said, before retreating into the crowd of maids and butlers.
There was nothing that could hold Griffith and Charlotte back from entering the bedroom.
---
“Alright, Charlotte,” Griffith sighed as he sat down on the girl’s huge, four-posted bed with a weary groan. Everything was prepared – the fire was lit, bathing the spacious, luxurious bedroom with warm orange light. The air felt heavy with the scent of musk and perfume lingering in it, the bed’s velour blankets folded neatly, pillows fluffed, washbasins on the two bedside tables and a small crystal bottle of what seemed to be oil besides the one on the right – the husband’s – side. “You know what’s going on next, right?”
“I… I guess so,” she nodded.
That poor girl seemed absolutely terrified. Her hands were shaking, her face pale, her blue eyes glistening with fear. She stood firmly in front of the bed, staring down at it, unable to move. She reached up one arm, and began to chew on the nail of her right thumb.
“Is everything okay?” Griffith asked. She just has to make it harder, he cursed internally. He had a feeling this girl didn’t wanted to lay the first night. Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want, the stream of thoughts continued. He laid with that nasty nobleman Gennon and many more at the ripe age of fourteen, for the sake of his dream. If he could do it, Charlotte could’ve squeezed her pearly white teeth together and just accept the situation, suffer through it. Griffith loathed these type of people. It’s not like he was fat and ugly, like Gennon was, he was young and beautiful, slim, handsome… What could be her damn problem?
“There’s something I haven’t told you yet,” Charlotte began with a trembling voice, “please don’t be mad at me,” she stayed quiet for a few moments, “I’m not… untouched.”
“Excuse me?” Griffith asked, feeling a spike of guilt in her gut after his inner prejudices. Maybe a terrible thing happened with this girl.
“My father,” she whispered as she slowly approached the bed, collapsing on it besides Griffith. She stayed quiet, like she couldn’t say more. “After my mother died…”
“Oh,” Griffith couldn’t say more. His mind put together with the pieces of the puzzle. The way the King looked at him after he kissed Charlotte, that was the gaze of a man who has lost something, her nervousness, the way how oddly she behaved around her father… It all made sense. That man did something unspeakable. He suddenly got an idea.
“Do you have a needle in your room?” He asked, looking at Charlotte.
“No,” she murmured, her face buried into the duvet. “why?”
“Listen,” Griffith began,” they will come in tomorrow morning, to check the sheets. If it’s not bloody, that will be the sign of you being unpure, and you’ll be ridiculed and mocked, or worse, persecuted. You don’t want that, right? I need something to injure myself with, so I can smear the blood on the sheets.”
“I don’t keep anything like that in here… They are in my hobby room,” Charlotte stated, her voice tired.
“Where is this hobby room?”
“In the West Tower.”
Griffith sighed and laid back on the bed. He knew the court was on the other side of the door, so sneaking out was impossible.
“Charlotte, this will be an uncomfortable question,” Griffith warned, “what do you mean by untouched?”
“Do I have to detail it to you?” She sat up, her eyes foggy from unshed tears.
“Just tell me,” Griffith slurred, “will you bleed or not?”
An expression of shock was on Charlotte’s face, as it suddenly turned dark red. She pulled back, her eyes wide. The way she was staring at Griffith was unnerving – a broken, scared girl.
Eventually, she slowly nodded.
“Could you be kind to strip down?” Griffith asked, washing his hand in the washbasin. “I won’t take you. But I have to do it somehow. I don’t assume you know how to do it.”
“That’s right,” Charlotte muttered, her voice barely audible, standing up and slowly disrobing, until she was in her underclothes. She neatly folded the discarded garments on an armchair, to delay the big event. She laid back on the bed, one hand grasping into the bedding, the other pulled up her cream-colored skirt to reveal thin, white legs and her crotch. She reluctantly spread her legs.
Griffith stared at the pink slit between her thighs, surrounded by brown curls of hair. The sight didn’t evoke anything in him. He knew an average man would immediately jump on her – which man would say no to the chance of laying with the princess? But Griffith wasn’t an average man.
He stuck two fingers in his mouth. He had a faint idea what did women like – he read the Kama Sutra a few years ago –, so he decided to apply this practical knowledge. He brought his fingers to her cunt, slowly caressing it up and down, over the lips. He felt a faint trace of wetness, or maybe it was the saliva on his finger? It was hard to tell.
Charlotte let out a whimper, and covered her face with her hands, like she didn’t wanted to look there, or to even see what’s happening.
He rubbed his fingers on the small, fleshy part on top of it – he had no idea how it was called, and heard another pathetic noise from Charlotte. Maybe she likes it, he thought, so he did it again, a bit harder. Charlotte squirmed away.
So she didn’t like it.
Griffith dragged his fingers lower, and she felt her opening clenching beneath his fingertips. It felt dry. As far as Griffith knew, it was supposed to be wet. He pulled his fingers back and licked them again, then positioned them at her entrance.
“Alright,” Griffith warned, “It’s going in.”
“Ouch...”
Notes:
i hope you liked it!
Griffithgetonyourdamnfeet,stopkneeling (Guest) on Chapter 2 Fri 15 Aug 2025 12:49PM UTC
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