A Royal Rebellion

by Revella Hawthorne

  Queen Esme was implanted with an egg fertilized with the king’s seed, and forced on bed rest for each pregnancy. Queen Esme was forced to carry each child to term, then they were delivered via C-section. With each reluctant pregnancy and birth, she grew weaker and weaker.

  Edward was the last child she conceived and delivered naturally, before the disease began to kill her. All of the blood princesses, while the king’s daughters, were automatically disqualified from the line of succession because they were conceived via IVF, and so were all of their children as a result.

  Edward, last naturally conceived child, and the only one who wasn’t…..

  “King Henry will be most upset, sister,” a nasty voice interrupted her thoughts, and Arianna sat up sharply, eyes wide in dismay. “You weren’t supposed to know.”

  Camilla stood just inside the door, a smirk on her lips, eyes full of manic delight. She walked into the room, lips twisting in derision. Arianna surged to her feet, enraged.

  “You knew! You bitch! You must have known!” Arianna screamed, rounding the bed, intending to rip her sister-in-law to shreds. How dare she take part in this travesty!

  “Of course I knew! I’ve known since Mason was called back from the army to marry me. He refused, the bastard.” Camilla’s face warped into a snarl, and she dodged Ari’s reaching hand. She darted across the room, a small table between them, Arianna panting in rage, bosom heaving. Camilla giggled, some of her insanity slipping out in the sound.

  “Why?” She was asking this of everyone. She was so confounded by the whole mess that it was all she could ask past her anger and confusion.

  “Why did he refuse? He was in love with a soldier! Because he caught some of Eddie’s perversion, that’s why,” Camilla spat. “Oh? Do you mean why did I go along with this? Easy, sister. I wanted to be a princess.”

  “For power?” Arianna gasped out, shaking. “You let them violate us for power?”

  “Don’t act so scandalized. You wed Malcolm for the same reasons. You were never told any of this because you’re too flighty, too spoiled. You’re dutiful and devoted one moment, and irascible and undependable the next. Too inconstant. Stubborn, even, and King Henry said you weren’t to be trusted.”

  “You let him put his seed in you? You knew what was really happening during our yearly exams?” Arianna demanded, again feeling sick. Her emotions were everywhere, all over the place.

  “I let King Henry fuck me,” Camilla admitted, and Arianna swayed on her feet. “There was no need to pretend with me, I let him knock me up the good old fashioned way. I’ve actually never slept with Mason, you know. He could never get it up for me.”

  “I don’t blame him one bit, you disgusting whore!” Arianna lunged for Camilla, but her sister-in-law ran back towards the door, laughing.

  “Don’t be rude, Ari. King Henry is going to be so mad at you! And Malcolm, well…he’s going to be so disappointed you know the truth.” Camilla smiled one last time, and then ran out the door.

  She would go directly to the King. Of that, Arianna had no doubt. She had little time before she ended up under lock and key, or worse, she ended up like Mason. There was no need for a queen-presumptive, not anymore—there were six heirs for the Crown Prince, after all. Arianna was decoration at this point.

  If the king was crazy enough to violate his wife’s right to choose, then to do the same to his daughter-in-law’s, and everything he’d done to Mason over the years, and now Edward…he was insane enough to kill her.

  She would never stay silent. This atrocity could not go unanswered.

  There was someone in this palace who could tear this secret apart, and stop King Henry’s madness. And there was someone out there now, who’s right to rule was pure and unblemished by his father’s insanity and duplicity.

  Chapter Four

  Percy

  “Edward?” Percy called hesitantly, still not used to saying his master’s name when other people were around. Reynard was sitting in a chair next to their room’s door, long legs stretched out in front of him, gun in his lap, the TV remote in his other, switching through the channels on the unit on mute.

  “Yes, Percy?” Edward asked, coming out of the bathroom, drying his hands on a towel.

  Percy put a hand on his neck, the consort collar heavier than usual, with the skin underneath becoming irritated. This was the longest stretch of time he’d worn it without Edward removing it to provide his skin with some relief, and he was past the point of being brave and keeping quiet.

  Percy tipped his head to the side and lifted the heavy coils, the rope-like collar limp and silky, but the finely refined metal was beginning to hurt him. “It hurts.”

  Edward walked over the bed where he knelt, Reynard pausing what he was doing to watch. Edward towered over him, his fingers taking the place of Percy’s as he lifted the collar higher, exposing the skin on the right side of his neck.

  “Damnation,” Edward breathed out, gently moving Percy’s head so he could see all around his neck. The skin was red and chafed on both sides, the back and front not as irritated. “I am so sorry, Percy. I don’t have the key. I lost it after I got shot.”

  “Let me see,” Reynard said, standing at Edward’s side now, leaning over Percy’s other side. Thick fingers with callused pads ran gently over his skin, and Percy shivered.

  “Can you pick it?” Edward asked Reynard, both men touching his neck and the collar. Percy closed his eyes, hyper-aware of the two bigger, stronger men looming over him. Edward meant the ornate locking mechanism that the two ends of the collar disappeared into. It was a dark metal, heavily covered in precious red and white gems, and the ancient collar was designed to fit one key, and one key only, making it nearly impossible for it to be removed by anyone other than the royal who put it on the consort’s neck.

  “If this was a lock designed in the last fifty years or so, I would say yes,” Reynard said, tipping Percy’s chin back and lifting the lock away from his neck as high as it could go. “This necklace is over five-hundred years old, and meant to resist tampering. It was created by some of most ingenious and devious men in history. We would need an expert in ancient lock designs. I’ll do my best, though.”

  Percy blinked his eyes open, eyes watering at the sting as the coils dragged on the inflamed flesh of his neck. Reynard froze, and Edward took the necklace from Reynard, holding the coil off of Percy’s neck.

  “There should be a silk scarf in one of the bags,” Edward said to Reynard, who strode for the side of the room where their bags were stacked. Reynard returned after a moment, and handed Edward a long length of silk, and he held a small blue jar in his other hand.

  “Put some salve on first, on the skin, then the silk,” Reynard advised, opening the small jar. A strong odor rose from it, and Percy crinkled his nose in distaste. Edward chuckled, and dipped his fingers in the creamy ointment.

  The second the salve hit his skin, Percy moaned at the cooling sensation, the pain dissipating, going numb. It was cool, and stung, but it quickly went away as Edward spread a thin layer around his neck. Percy leaned into the touch, eyes growing heavy, the care and thoroughness his master showed in tending to him making him want to melt in pleasure. He hummed, and rubbed his jaw and cheek on Edward’s forearm, looking up and watching every move his lover made.

  Dark eyes met his, and Percy could see a deepening in them, as Edward recognized his fascination and responded. The door clicked somewhere nearby, the captain gone from the room, but Percy couldn’t take his eyes off Edward to check. All he wanted was for Edward to keep touching him.

  Edward was wiping his hands on a towel now, watching Percy as he kneeled on the bed, biting his lip, shifting his weight. Percy whimpered, his body vibrating with need. Percy reached out and tried to grab Edward, but his master backed away, shaking his head. Percy whined deep in his throat, desperately needing Edward to touch him, to take him, his hole growing wet and aching with emptiness. Percy’s body clenched, tight and urgent, and he fel
l to all fours on the bed, a fine layer of sweat building over his whole body, clothes sticking.

  “Edward, I need. Please,” he begged, arching his back, spreading his legs apart on the bed. He felt the pull and odd weight of his abdomen, and he groaned, eyes falling shut, his muscles thrumming with need as it radiated out from his core. He was very aware of his body, how it felt, how empty and yet how full he felt on the inside. His chute clenched and grew slicker, aching deeper, and further in he could feel the firm, almost solid-seeming weight in his womb.

  Edward tossed the towel, staring at him. “Take off your clothes, Percy.”

  He obeyed, scrambling to remove his clothing as fast as he could. He got caught up in his pants and socks, whimpering with frustration. Edward was watching, still as a statue, eyes burning, their dark flames making Percy nearly frantic with need.

  ***

  Edward

  Percy’s need was sudden, even for him. His lovely little mate was always willing, and so highly responsive that Edward took care not to do anything that would excite Percy in public. Yet lately, in the last week or so, Percy’s need for sex was explosive.

  Percy took off his clothes so fast Edward was sure he tore some seams, and he was kneeling on the bed, his slim, sexy cock hard and throbbing. Pointing up at his bellybutton, Percy’s cock was flushed red, his delicious sac pulled in tight, and Edward gestured with his hand, silently asking for Percy to turn around. Percy mewled in need, but obeyed, turning on his knees until Edward could see his pert, firm ass. A look was all he needed to determine that Percy was highly aroused, his natural slick gleaming wet between those luscious cheeks and his rear clenching as his internal muscles prepared for penetration.

  Edward went rock hard. So fast his head spun for a second. It didn’t matter they were on the run. It didn’t matter that Reynard was probably right outside the door, guarding their lives and able to hear everything about to happen in here. All that mattered was getting inside his delectable mate, and fucking him until he screamed Edward’s name.

  Percy gave a soft, breathy cry, full of ache and need. Edward’s cock strained against the zipper of his trousers, and he reached down, unbuttoning them, releasing his shaft and peeling back his boxer briefs. Percy’s eyes went to the sight of his freed flesh, and if ice could burn, his glacial blue orbs set Edward on fire. His sexy little mate, skin flushed, breathing ragged, went to his hands, ass high in the air, and all but melted in the mattress. Ass up, shoulders down, Percy presented the most delightful picture, and any restraint Edward had evaporated.

  “Saint’s blood, Percy,” Edward sighed, walking to the bed, hands going to Percy’s hips, pulling him to the edge. His hands spanned Percy’s lithe waist, leanly muscled and elegantly proportioned. His skin was pure and unblemished, unmarred by the harsh reality of natural and random conception and birth. The slope of his spine, the slight curve of his hips, the sleek muscles on his shoulders, all of Percy was designed with perfection in mind.

  Edward worshipped that perfection. Eyes tracing over every inch of Percy he could see, his hands following in the path of his gaze, skin humming with desire, Edward beat back his baser instincts, remembering that while Percy was built for sex, and relished in the rougher side of things, his beautiful mate was bearing his child. No matter how badly he wanted to mount and rut away mindlessly, he would cherish and protect his mate and babe.

  “Please, Edward,” Percy begged him, voice quiet, soft, his hips lifting to push into his hands. “I need you.”

  “Settle,” Edward instructed him, holding Percy still. Edward lowered his trousers and underwear out of the way, and stepped closer. He guided his cock to Percy’s slicked crease, rubbing the flared head in the musky and sweet fluid, both of their breathing patterns hitching in reaction as he pressed to Percy’s willing hole. “Do you want me inside you, my mate?”

  “Yee-s-s-ss,” Percy tried to say, fingers digging into the blankets, and Edward held him still when he attempted to push back and impale himself on Edward’s cock.

  “Anything for you,” Edward promised, and pushed in. Percy gave a small, aborted cry, his breath failing as Edward sank to the hilt.

  So tight, hot, wet, with powerful muscles immediately milking his organ. Edward moaned, adjusting Percy’s hips, finding the perfect angle, and withdrawing just enough to push back inside with some force behind his thrust. His mate gave him a tiny sound, full of want and overcome nerves. Fire ran along his body, from where his cock was buried in perfection and up his spine, setting fire to his thoughts.

  Hard, short thrust in, head nudging at the place their child grew, and a slow, ever so slow withdrawal, delighting in the slick, smooth flesh of Percy’s channel. Edward’s eyes closed, and his world narrowed to the flesh welcoming his cock and the vibrating body under his hands. He rotated his hips, adding depth to his thrusts, and Percy sobbed each time he did it.

  Edward became lost in the feel and sounds of Percy, so welcoming, so fucking sexy. He repeated his pattern, eyes closed, totally focused on his mate coming apart under his hands. He let go of worry and stress, anger and fear, and gave himself to Percy’s pleasure, finding satisfaction as Percy quivered and whimpered.

  “So perfect,” Edward told the shaking bundle of desire crying his name as he continued his devastating pattern, each stroke in damn near catching him in an unshakeable grip of powerful muscles. Percy was close, his body tightening on Edward, every stroke bringing them both closer to climax and release.

  “Edward!” Percy shrieked, his whole body bowing as an orgasm slammed into his small mate. Edward thrust home, opening his eyes to watch as Percy’s body sucked him impossibly deeper.

  His body was humming. Every nerve swamped in heat and undulating waves of pleasure. Edward came as Percy’s body clamped down on his cock, and Edward poured everything he had into the heated depths, his seed all but sucked out of him. Balls tight and aching, Edward stopped breathing, whole body incapable of moving, his cock and balls pulsing in time together, his body’s focus locked into the sinful grip of Percy’s.

  ***

  Edward

  He must have blacked out. Lack of oxygen causing him to fall to the bed, Percy trapped under his greater weight, his little mate still milking his cock in lessening waves. Percy was asleep, and Edward eased from his seed-slicked chute, grabbing his mate around the waist and pulling Percy into his arms.

  Percy slept on, totally relaxed. Edward ran his fingers over the back of his slim neck, the raw flesh from the consort collar worse along the sides where the slight slack in the coils rubbed as Percy moved. Edward sat up with care, and searched on the bed for the silk scarf, finding it down among their feet. Percy was so deeply asleep Edward was able to wrap the consort collar in the fine silk, covering the coils all the way around, running out of fabric near the jewel-encrusted lock.

  Edward used the tassels at each end to secure the silk, and he dropped his hands away with one last brush to Percy’s skin, smooth as the silk that now protected him from further damage.

  The consort necklace was ancient, and Edward had lost count of how many consorts in times past had worn the same collar. One collar, one key, both created at the same time, both equally priceless. And the collar had been designed as both protection for the one collared, and a mark of ownership. Only a Cassian Royal, most commonly the princes of the blood, had the right to collar a consort, and as such each lock had been created unique, by individual masters, and there was no way to remove it without either damaging the relic or damaging the one who wore it.

  Not all consorts in the old days had been willing.

  Many collars in ancient times had come booby-trapped, small vials of acid concealed inside the clasps, rigged to break if the lock was forced. Those were used on royal prisoners of war, or those who were especially recalcitrant in their new roles as slaves. No rescue of a captured foreign royal could be successful if the removal of the consort collar left the wearer dead. After one horrible, tragic attempt three hundred y
ears ago, no one had ever tried again.

  Edward had chosen a collar with a less nefarious history, commissioned by a Crown Prince five hundred years ago for his lover, a young princess captured on her travels along Cassia’s borders. The tale went that she was on her way to be wed to another, and the Crown Prince had seen her beauty and coveted her for his own, ambushing her caravan at a small border town with Elysian. He took her as consort, fathering the next generation of royals off her, and she eventually became Queen-Consort when he took the throne. Whether one believed the historical version of a spoiled prince stealing and forcing an innocent maiden into sexual slavery or the love tale from folklore was up to the mindset of the current master. Edward chose to believe in the tale of love and passion instead of villainy and rape. Its history came with more love than tragedy attached to its storied past.

  The key, usually on a slim necklace of its own, had hung around Edward’s neck since the day he collared his young mate. It was lost somewhere between getting shot in the square and escaping the hospital the next day. Edward needed to find someone to remove the necklace, or they needed to get their hands on the tools to do it themselves. If they went to someone else to remove it they ran the risk of being recognized and reported; Edward had no idea what kind of tool could safely remove the coils from Percy’s neck without injury to his mate, since bolt cutters wouldn’t do—the metal was too dense, too resistant to cutting. Crafted from the rarest of metals, each collar was built to withstand all serious attempts at removal.