Velvet

by Xavier Axelson

  “Killed the poor man, Duir did, the monster.”

  “Ain’t never been the same since his sainted father died.”

  “No surprise. Always a bit of a brute even as a lad.”

  These were only a few of the phrases bandied about by those in his service.

  He rarely left his private rooms. On the occasion when he sat at court, his decrees were bizarre and conflicted. This led to many of those who sat on King Killian’s Privy Council to raise objection. When Duir grew bored with these protests, he would simply dismiss those who opposed him.

  “Sir, if you dislike the court, I bid you leave it.”

  If further protest were raised, force would be employed. Depending on Duir’s mood, this could range from being escorted from the room or removed to the dungeons with accusations of treason following behind.

  One night while attending a dinner in his private chambers, I witnessed Duir’s irrational behavior. Beautiful women were always in his company and that night proved no different. The local brothel owner, a woman called Therese, sat by Duir.

  He raised his goblet in a toast. “When I wear the crown, I will make you a Lady,” Duir slurred, loudly.

  Therese laughed. “Oh aye, Lady Therese, the whore mother! Fancy that everyone! Our Prince can turn whores into ladies!”

  Duir did not laugh.

  I saw his eyes grow wide in rage. Sensing trouble, I sprung forward. “Duir!”

  He did not hear me. The wine filled goblet he’d raised came down upon Therese with such force that its contents splashed across the table and soaked Therese and the woman who sat at her side. Therese crumpled from where she sat.

  When I rushed to her side, Duir raised his hand threateningly.

  “Touch the slut and I will slit your throat, tailor!” He shook with rage. The goblet fell from his hand. The sound of it hitting the floor echoed in the candle lit room. No one moved. Duir faced the table.

  “I am King of this realm!”

  The women Therese brought were whimpering and shaking so violently I thought they would faint. It must have been sheer terror that held them upright.

  “I will not be laughed at in my own chambers!” His voice shook the windows.

  Everyone in attendance stood, except Cale.

  Cale sat unmoved by the scene. His massive hands reached across the table, jerked a drumstick from a roasted swan, brought it to his mouth, and tore at it like a hungry beast.

  Auberon went to Duir’s side. “My Prince.”

  Duir spun on him, but Auberon amended swiftly. “Pardon, My King. Come. Let us leave these fools.”

  Briar came to Duir’s other side and between their powerful frames, they led Duir from the room.

  Once they departed, I focused my attentions on Therese. Her women were by her side attending to her. The haunting sound of her painful cries, the women’s hysterics and finally Cale’s malevolent laughter, filled the room.

  I glared at him. “How can you laugh?”

  Cale stopped laughing and belched. He tossed the stripped bone onto his plate. “Because I enjoy watching a dog scratch its fleas.”

  I shook my head. “He cannot mean it. Duir is tormented by Killian’s death, that is all. This is not who he truly is.”

  “Oh, but it is.” Cale sneered.

  * * * *

  The following morning I sat at breakfast with my brother. I now faced the task of telling Sylvain of Duir’s request for me to remain at court.

  Sylvain knew Duir cast an evil eye his way. “It is because I brought news of Killian’s death to him. Perhaps he thinks himself a fool for not believing a blind man, or maybe he did believe, but his pride blinded him. There is no love lost between us and I worry not at all of Duir. I brought news of the death to him and I will always be remembered as such.”

  What Sylvain lacked in sight he made up for with his other senses. His affinity with wild creatures and skill as an animal trainer were renowned. He also understood the ways of healing wounds and sickness, and had a deft hand in ministering salves and ointments made from the plants and trees growing wild in the nearby woods. While his gifts in tailoring were less than mine, he proved able, in the busiest of times, to work alongside me in competency.

  Duir’s dislike of Sylvain persisted. He swore he could tell when Sylvain and not I stitched a buttonhole or had pieced together a vest.

  “It is his way,” Sylvain acknowledged while we ate, and I told him of Duir’s demands. “Besides, I am glad to stitch the horses’ blankets. They are much more appreciative of a blind man’s work.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at Sylvain’s reply. Both of us knew Duir’s mention of stitching horse blankets was merely his way of saying, “Your brother can go to the devil,” and I envied Sylvain’s ability to not take this insult personally.

  “Will you continue at court?” my brother asked as he spread butter on a crust of bread. “I hear it is a dangerous place to be these days.”

  “I don’t think I have a choice. I am beholden by my own words and Father’s legacy,” I answered carefully.

  Sylvain scoffed. “You are beholden to only that which you decide. You must be careful. It is not King Killian’s court anymore.”

  “Duir is grieving, and is acting strangely because of it. He will grow calm in time.”

  Sylvain remained thoughtfully silent.

  “His coronation will take place immediately. He will want a vest.”

  “A vest?” Sylvain jeered over his bread. “Duir will want vestments beyond heaven for his crowning! You underestimate him.”

  I shook my head and stared into my bowl. “I underestimate him because I am hopeful his demands will be tempered by our friendly history. I am only one man.”

  Sylvain sighed resignedly, finished his meal, made as if to stand, but stopped and cocked his head towards the window beside him. A pigeon had come and landed on the window ledge.

  I watched in silent amazement as he leaned over and offered it a scrap of bread, which sent the bird into an excited flurry of wings.

  “Ah well, you shall have me to assist you, and maybe I am wrong.” As Sylvain finished, the pigeon took flight and we were silent.

  * * * *

  The following day I received a request to attend court.

  “Be sure and tell me everything you observe,” Sylvain insisted. “I’m eager to see how Duir manages his court. It will be telling of your fate as tailor.”

  I stepped up into the carriage Duir sent for me. “Is it not already obvious? He sends a carriage to pick up his tailor!”

  Sylvain laughed at this comment.

  I arrived to find the castle in chaos. People were running about and there seemed to be no end to the noise. Shouts and commands were issued from shrill and excited mouths. Pretty women and virile men seemed to have replaced the old and wise of King Killian’s organized court.

  “By god,” I muttered as I scanned the scene, looking for a familiar face. Not seeing any, I plunged into the mass of people and forged my way through the crowd to a doorway that marked the entrance to the throne room.

  Two hulking guards stood vigilant and calm in the surrounding melee. When they lowered their swords, uncertainty on how to proceed assailed me.

  “Let him enter,” a voice bellowed.

  I watched as Auberon came to greet me. We shook hands and embraced.

  “It’s madness,” I said over his shoulder.

  “Truly.” He laughed. “But it is good to see you. Duir will be much comforted. The coronation is upon him, and although he is loath to show it, he is shaken. Come!”

  I followed him into the throne room, glad to find relative silence in the inner chamber.

  “How long will it be like this?” I asked as we passed a small group of conferring men who had stopped talking long enough to cast suspicious eyes upon me.

  “Ahh, they are a scared pack of pigeons. All will settle once Duir wears the crown.”

  I glanced at Auberon and for not the first time ad
mired his fine looks.

  Auberon’s frame told a story of time spent in battle and sportsmanship. His broad shoulders supported a powerful chest and flat but taut torso. He kept his dark hair long and tied with a piece of black leather strapping.

  He caught me looking at him and smiled crookedly. “You’ve heard the news?”

  “What news?” I stammered. “Can there possibly be more to bear at such a time?”

  I followed him past the empty throne and into the dark hallway leading to Duir’s rooms. Several women passed us and bowed, then began giggling.

  Auberon’s eyes followed longingly after them.

  “How I will miss the taste of variety in the marital bed,” he said with a sigh.

  “Marital bed? You can’t mean—”

  Auberon stopped and a mischievous grin lit up his dark features.

  “I’m to be married!”

  “Before Duir?” The announcement stunned me. “He will be little pleased at your timing. He swore he would be first to wed.”

  “Ah, but what can a man do when his heart has been pierced by love’s arrow?” Auberon placed a massive hand to his chest. “I will be married soon after the coronation.”

  “I congratulate you, Auberon. Who is the lady?”

  We reached Duir’s rooms, but before we were close enough for the guards standing at the doorways to hear, Auberon gestured for me to come away to a nearby open window.

  He leaned out the window and took an invigorating breath of sweet air. “I am marrying the beautiful Tienne.”

  “Tienne? Duir’s cousin from the southlands? How does Duir fair about such news?”

  Auberon, surprised by my reaction, came away from the window and drew close to me. I could feel the heft of his manhood touching my leg through his tight leather breeches.

  “He is happy as I, and why not! We will be true kinsman now!”

  His closeness made me flinch. In truth, I became uncomfortable when any man came close to me. I felt certain any man would be able to smell it on my skin, and see in my eyes, the forbidden want blazing within my heart. It had been this way ever since I first uncovered certain truths about myself, truths I felt imprisoned by and bound to.

  I am a slave to the chains caging my heart and know the claustrophobic cell of desire better than I know anything.

  The first time I saw a man naked, I knew bondage.

  A man came to our door begging for shelter. My father relented and allowed the man refuge in our home for the night. The next morning I came upon him while he bathed. He did not see me and I could not turn away. Each passing second planted a seed and each seed a torrid thought sown into my young mind, which found its way to my heart where it germinated and grew. I wanted him. I wanted to touch him, as he touched himself in the early morning ritual of bathing.

  How dangerously mysterious my heart felt. How rapturous I felt when I sat at my father’s table and ate my stew. No one would ever know, and no one ever could. As mysterious and strangely magical the moments when I saw him felt, I also knew the fear of my secret and what it would mean if I ever admitted my needs. It must remain hidden, especially from other men.

  Now, as I stood before Auberon, I felt cold terror seize my heart. Had I seen a flicker of knowing pass across his face? When his body touched mine, did I somehow give myself away? Did he know? Could he sense what burned within me?

  What if they all knew; were only waiting for me to act and confirm their suspicions?

  Then the flicker vanished, and in its place, his ignorant smile spread unknowingly. If he sensed what lived in my heart, he chose not to believe it, and instead unleashed another surprise.

  “I wish you to make my wedding vest, tailor Virago, and vests for the men who will serve as witnesses to the vows I long to share with Tienne. Say you will do it!”

  I felt dazed not only by Auberon’s request, but also by the break in tension when he moved away from me. The world, along with the secret surrounding my heart, remained intact. Unable to think, I made my way to the doors of Duir’s rooms.

  “Virago!” Auberon shouted after me. “Say you will!”

  I stood for a moment as the guards opened the doors, and without looking at Auberon, gathered my wits. “If His Grace wills it so, I will be happy to do it. I do not wish to disappoint My King or Lady Tienne.”

  “And what of me?” he asked good-naturedly. “I ask this as your friend, not as a man soon to be kin to your king.”

  I shook my head at Auberon’s boyish impetuousness. “Allow me some time to digest what is happening today and leave tomorrow for the morrow.”

  * * * *

  I left Duir’s presence late and horribly drunk. The coronation plans were made, and his finery discussed at length over much ale. Ale made especially for Duir’s coronation.

  “This must be your most splendid work, Virago!” Duir shouted while half spilling the dark brew over a half-naked woman who lounged by the fire awaiting his late night desires. He sucked the dark fluid from her breast, and laughed at her ticklish squeals. A manservant took this opportunity to refill his master’s mug, then retreated swiftly to the darkened corners of the room.

  That night, all fear and memory of Duir’s erratic and vicious behaviors were forgotten. No one mentioned Therese or her absence. Several times during the night, I found my eyes wandering the room, searching for her, but she did not appear.

  “I will decree,” he shouted drunkenly, raising the newly full and frothy mug and swinging it precariously towards where I sat among his men.

  “Whatever materials used in my coronation vest are sacred to king and court. Hear me tailor, Virago, friend and servant of my throne!”

  I laughed at Duir’s drunken decree, but promised one such garment fit for a king and to be worn only by a king.

  * * * *

  “Oh, but the night!” I shouted as I stumbled to the carriage summoned to bring me home. The driver, a handsome and alluring young man rose from his seat and quickly dismounted.

  “Aye, My Lord, let me help you inside.” He opened the door of the carriage and I climbed haphazardly aboard. I felt his hands on my back as he tried to steady me, and through my cape and shirt, felt desire rise up inside of me and swell my cock. Even in my drunken stupor, I held onto enough fear of consequence to avoid reaching out for him.

  Once inside among the cushions of the carriage, a need so strong consumed me. I struggled to find my footing in the ale-soaked reality of the night.

  “Am I to have nothing for myself?!” My voice must have reached the ears of the driver for I heard him reply.

  “My Lord, are you in need?”

  Instead of answering, I rapped loudly on the wall behind his seat and the carriage lurched forward, carrying me away from the castle.

  Would I always hide behind cloth, skill, and scissor to avoid the truth of my need? I thankfully kept this second admission to myself. But these questions did little to assuage my body’s torment, and instead intensified my needs. I wiped sweat from my brow. It couldn’t be, I could not want another man. It meant death. It meant disgrace. I felt my cock, a hard, throbbing flesh testament of my truth. I moaned, but realizing I might be heard, grew silent.

  I closed my eyes to the night passing outside the carriage windows. Could I not find some release with my own hand?

  Undo what so aches to be undone, Virago, I heard a voice murmur in my ear. I could resist no longer. I unlaced my breeches, tugged my cock from its constraints, and savored its thick fullness.

  My body ached for release as my fingers circled the head. Wetness slicked my thumb as it probed the slit and forced a low groan from my throat. “Only a man.” I grunted and arched up and pressed my boots to the floor of the carriage. I matched the vibrations of the wheels moving over the streets with slow, rhythmic strokes. The pound of the horses’ hooves and the voice of the carriage driver as he coaxed them along the familiar roads served only to heighten my pleasure. I thought of the way the handsome driver touched my shoulder w
hen he helped me inside the carriage, the way his lips curved, and I imagined him naked with his horsewhip guiding Duir’s stallions along the dark streets.

  These images, along with the vibrations of the carriage, sent me past the point of restraint. I tugged my balls from my breeches with one hand and stroked my manhood with the other until I felt a wave of bliss consume me. I groaned loudly before realizing the carriage slowed. I quickly released my balls and thrust my hand to my mouth. Hot, wet seed shot from my body as if held behind a crumbling wall. I could do nothing but bite my hand in a feeble attempt to stifle my moans. I was panting and fighting to regain my senses even as the carriage continued to slow. I hurriedly tucked my dribbling cock inside my breeches, yanked a patch of fabric normally used to wipe my brow from my pocket, and went about mopping anywhere I thought my semen might have fallen. Damn the moon for not being brighter, I thought as I wiped at the floor of the carriage. I could only hope I had gotten it all and the carriage driver wouldn’t clean the coach until the next day, when my sins would be cloaked by time.

  I was fully composed by the time the carriage slowed to a stop and made as dignified a descent as my drunken and sex-addled body could muster.

  “Many thanks,” I murmured, and stumbled past him to the door of my home.

  I fumbled and dropped my keys.

  “Might I help you, My Lord?”

  The driver’s shadowy, moon-silvered face made me hesitate. The fire so recently quenched returned and flooded me with want. Would I never be allowed a moment of peace from my needs?

  Familiar with swimming beneath the weight of fear and discovery, my response did not surprise me. “No.”

  The driver, thus rebuked, bowed and retreated to his seat.

  The carriage departed, and I was alone. I’d known ecstasy only moments before, but now standing on the empty street in front of my house, a vacant emptiness seized me. The faint creak of carriage wheels on the cobblestones lingered, then faded into nothing.

  This is what awaits you, perverse creature, empty silence!