Author’s Note:
This is an unedited, ongoing serial that may eventually be published in novel form. Plot/characters/elements are subject to change as it is being written. Read at your own discretion and take note of story tags below.

Genre: Historical Fantasy
Tags: general abuse, sex acts, age gap, bisexual, master/servant, angst, archaic terminology/style

• Part 1
• Part 2
• Part 3

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Taden was my father’s body servant and guard, and my favourite person in the entire world. He was fascinating—a foreigner from a faraway land of volcanos and long nights. A warrior among his people. A battle-hardened man… and as fond of me as I was of him. As a young child, Taden dandled me on his knee and would let me run my hands softly over the planes of his face. Oh, his face intrigued me—it was all hard angles and scars, skin so much paler than mine and eyes as black as river stones. I could see myself reflected in them as I traced the line of his stubbled cheek, fascinated by the mix of sharp black and white hairs that prickled my fingertips. When I stroked his jaw with the palm of my hand, the rasping sound delighted me. Taden was the only man I had ever seen with a bare face—my father and all other men I knew wore thick, long beards.

I thought the best part of his face was his nose. It was large but much longer than it was wide, with a bump halfway down it like a knuckle. At the tip of Taden’s nose where it was bracketed by thin, flared nostrils, there was a very shallow divot, right in the centre. I liked to place my finger gently on the divot because it was exactly the right size, as though it were my fingertip that had left the impression. Taden always smiled when I did it and it filled me with happiness that we shared this quiet bond of love.

I was ten, the last time I sat upon his knees. Still a boy, but on the cusp of manhood, that brief time that exists when innocence of imagination first comes into conflict with the reality of the world. Across the room, my father spoke in a hushed yet decisive voice to his ministers while I sat in Taden’s lap as I always had, waiting for the endless meeting to adjourn so I could be free to run and play for the afternoon. Taden and I never spoke as we sat. It was my father’s wish that I listen in silence so that I may learn to rule in his stead one day… but I rarely heard a word that was said.

That particular day, I was drawn to Taden’s lips, the way they curved, the way the top one nearly blended with the skin above it while the bottom one had such a sharply defined line. I touched the middle of his bottom lip and let my finger fall from its jutting cliff to land on the prickled brushland of his broad chin. He laughed silently at my childish antics, the corners of his eyes deeply creased, so I did it again.

The third time my finger took the plunge, I started from his top lip, stroking slowly down, but before I reached the outcrop of his bottom lip, his tongue came out to touch my fingertip. The secret little taste thrilled me to my very core, and like a blind man who suddenly sees, things were forever changed from that moment. I sat up, my heart pounding, staring up at him.

I don’t recall now whether I wanted him to reach beneath my robes to cup my small manhood in his rough hand—I think those thoughts were still far away in time—but I suddenly ached for something. I was so young my blade had not yet been tempered by the heat of a woman, and though I knew what the act was, it had never taken hold in my imagination. But right then, with Taden, I began to understand desire.

I don’t know what my father witnessed or if he would even have understood the significance of what had just taken place. Perhaps he saw something in my face—my cheeks felt hot, as if they’d been slapped—or maybe the meeting with his ministers had reached a topic unsuitable to my young ears, but Father chose that exact moment to abruptly dismiss me from his presence. Only me, not Taden.

Banished from the room, I stood with my back against the red doors, my stomach fluttering and my knees strangely weak, newly-acquainted with desire’s most common cousin, shame, though nothing had transpired between Taden and I to cause it.

The next day, I entered my father's chambers brimming with uncommon eagerness only to find the chair Taden and I had always shared to be empty. My father pointed to it and I sat, my heart in my throat. Taden stood next to one of the big windows, a straight-backed sentinel, his eyes looking at nothing. I stared and stared, willing him to acknowledge me with a glance, a smile, anything to show that he still loved me, but my mind could not budge him from his vigilance. Had my father said something to him? Had Taden deemed his own actions of the previous day inappropriate? Was I simply too old to be dandled on the knee of my father’s man? I could barely sleep that night, wracked with equal parts guilt, desire, and deep sadness for the loss of my dearest friend.

Four days later I was sent away to my mother’s family in the lowlands to learn the ways of diplomacy, trade, lawmaking, and the art of war. It was customary for young lords and ladies to become wards of an allied house until they came of age, but I couldn’t help but feel that in my case it was rather abrupt.

+++

I was bare-chested and half-lidded, reclining on a prickling mound of hay with my most recent conquest when I received news of my father’s death. I was always desperate for whatever privacy I could claim as my own, and the hayloft in the southernmost barn was the best I could find. I gave the grooms and cottars plenty of coins to keep my hiding space secret from my aunt and uncle, so I was astonished when a messenger came clambering up the wooden ladder to my makeshift bower.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. Robbe began to straighten, but I held the back of his head, keeping him in place. The messenger, a plain young woman with beautiful blue eyes, stared at the scribe with his face buried in my lap for a second before clearing her throat.

“My lord, you’re requested in the council room,” she said, her expression carefully neutral.

“Can it wait? As you can see, I’m not quite done yet.” I was being flippant out of annoyance. In truth it was doubtful I’d be able to finish what I’d started. The messenger’s intrusion and my natural curiosity were proving too much of a distraction—there was barely any hardness left for Robbe’s mouth to suckle, though he was still valiantly trying to resurrect my interest.

“I’m afraid it’s urgent, my lord,” she said, her voice faint.

I sighed, gently moving Robbe aside. “Duty calls, my dear.” Smiling, I cupped his cheek and winked. “But don’t roam far.”

To her credit, the messenger’s eyes never strayed from the empty air beside my head as I stood in front of her, purposefully repacking my goods into my trousers. Bowing, I gestured to the ladder.

“After you, m’lady,” I said in jest. This time I was rewarded with a tiny bloom in her cheeks. When she turned, I noticed she did have rather shapely legs. I grinned, thinking that perhaps I would try enticing her to visit my hayloft again under different circumstances. Robbe would be jealous, but that only meant he would try to please me even harder.

My aunt and uncle sat at the head of the long table in the council chamber. As I sauntered closer, I casually plucked a pear from the bowl in the centre, taking a bite as I came to a stop in front of them.

“You summoned me?” I asked, chewing loudly as I rested my elbow on the high back of an empty chair.

They shared a rather tense and somber glance, which put my show of impudence to an abrupt end. I straightened, my pulse quick. My aunt was blanched pale.

“What happened?” I stepped closer, clasping my aunt’s outstretched hand. “Tell me. What was the message? Is it my mother?”

“Your mother is well, my dear boy,” she replied, placing her other hand on top of mine. She looked to her husband to convey the message.

My uncle cleared his throat, his great shaggy beard quivering at its pointed tip as he stared hard at me. “Your father has passed.”

For a moment I could do nothing, as if I were a little statuette of wood, then I swallowed hard, my heart beating fast. “My father… when?” I had not seen my father in years, but we regularly corresponded—letters often filled with admonishments over my growing… reputation. “I only just received a note from him three days ago. He never mentioned he was in ill-health.”

“It was sudden,” my aunt explained, squeezing my hand. “I’m so very sorry.”

I was still wide-eyed, gaping like an imbecile over the shocking news, but she mistook my reaction for one of grief. I felt no grief over the death of my father. I barely knew the man, and though I respected him, I did not love him. My stupor was grounded in my realization that I would become lord of my father’s estate far sooner than I’d imagined.

“Am I… to go home, then? For good, I mean?” I asked quietly. “Or shall Mother rule in my stead until I come of age?”

Another glance was shared by my guardians.

“Your aunt and I, ah, believe that your education here is complete,” said my uncle, his dark brows meeting over the bridge of his nose. “And that perhaps it would be best for you to return home, regardless of… questions of rulership. It would think it a welcome change of, ah, scenery, for you.”

I could see the insinuation of his words in the way he stared at me. It was a long moment in silence. Obviously, they were tired of my antics and found it fortuitous that I had reason to leave their guardianship early. I’d evidently littered their estate with too many broken hearts and swollen bellies for their liking.

I smirked, feeling the sting of insult, but bowed politely. “As you wish, Uncle.” I kissed my aunt’s soft cheek and took a step back. “I thank you both for taking such good care of me and for being so kind. I’ll leave as soon as I’ve packed.”

Sitting up straight in her chair, my aunt gave her husband a startled look before smiling at me in a kindly fashion. “You don’t have to leave so precipitously—we would be happy to keep you until you’re entirely prepared to go.”

“I thank you, Auntie, but I should get back to Mother as soon as I can,” I said, my thanks genuine even though I could see she was pleased with my response. It hurt a bit, knowing they were so glad to see me go—the gleeful demon on my shoulder suggested that perhaps another bastard in their midst would be the perfect parting gift for their happy ousting of me. With that in mind, I bowed again, making my leave, then caught the sleeve of the messenger girl waiting outside the council room door.

“Ah… I’m pleased you’re still here,” I said, smiling down at her. “I was hoping to catch you… you see, you’ve positively enchanted me with those beautiful blue eyes of yours. Let me see…” I drew her into a beam of sunlight slanting down from the windowed clerestory. “Just lovely.”

“Th-thank you, my lord,” the young woman responded, her pale eyelashes trembling in the bright light.

“Please… you can call me by my name,” I replied, crooking my finger under her chin to tilt her head back further. “You know my name, don’t you?” I grinned wide. “Have you gone mute?”

“No… my lor—” she said, her cheeks going very pink as she stared up at me. “No, um, Wulfsere.”

“That’s better,” I said, placing my hand in the small of her back to guide her down the arcade. “Now, I have something to show you…”

+++

The castle hadn’t truly changed in the seven years of my absence—the same tapestries hung on the same old smoke-stained walls, the same dark wood furniture sat exactly where they had in the past—but now everything seemed somehow… smaller.

I nodded politely to the servants I recognized while surreptitiously assessing the ones that I didn’t. There were a few pretty faces that pleased me, but not as many as I would have liked. Everyone, from the lowest scullions to the physicians were clothed in red. I felt out of place in my gold and green, but I hadn’t had the foresight nor the time to acquire a proper suit of mourning. The old seneschal clasped my arm as I passed him, whispering his condolences, but I didn’t hear his words. My vision was firmly affixed to the man standing next to my mother, a man I’d never forgotten yet never dared hope to see again.

Taden had been a man in his prime the last time I’d perched in his lap, but my imagination had aged him over the years—after all, I’d been away nearly as long as I had known him. I now realized that the near-half of my life was a mere morsel of his. Scrutinizing Taden standing tall and lean in his dark-red gambeson and riding trousers, he looked as sound and stalwart as the day I had left. I was surprised to see I was of height with him.

Suddenly, I felt shy, shifting my gaze to my mother’s sorrowful green eyes instead. I took her cold hand in mine.

“Mother, I’m so sorry about Father,” I said, trying to make my voice sombre in a show of maturity. I could not stop my face from flushing, thinking about Taden standing so close… Was he looking at me? I didn’t dare turn my eyes to check.

“Bless his soul, he is at rest,” said my mother in a voice far fainter than I remembered. I had to push my curiosity about the man at her side to the back of my mind—the woman was bleached from exhaustion and sadness and it was my foremost duty to see her well.

I took her arm and faced those assembled, lifting my chin in a way I hoped conveyed authority. “Stoke the fires… it’s glacial in here. Bring a meal of hot broth, cheese, and bread to my mother’s chambers… and you”—I pointed to the man I recognized as the ewerer—“fetch hot water for a bath.” I shook my head. “No, make that two baths.” I needed one as well to rid myself of the itchy sweat and road dust coating my skin.

The servants scrambled to obey and I began to lead my mother towards her chambers… then paused, bracing myself because I could put it off no longer—my eyes thirsted for another look. I turned to my deceased father’s body servant and guard and nodded to him in greeting.

“Taden,” I said quietly.

He gazed at me for a moment before returning the nod. “Welcome home, my lord.”

I quickly averted my eyes lest I give away the joy erupting within me. The quiet, steadfast love in the man’s black eyes was like water filling a pail that had gone long empty; a balm for a wound that hadn’t been cured by the ministrations of few dozen eager bodies. I was crying and leaping on the inside, struggling to make sense of my mother’s murmurs as we navigated the dark passageways, only remembering to nod when she paused and hoping my show of grief hid the chorus singing in my mind: Home. I am home. And Taden loves me still.

+++

I lay on my father’s bed in my father’s chambers, both now mine in inheritance, trying to dredge up the memories of my youth… what was fiction and what was true memory? I kept going back to the image of my fingers on Taden’s mouth. Had that really happened? And, if it had, had Taden simply been playing along with a child’s game? Had he licked me to surprise or tease me or disgust me? Had my imagination created something out of nothing? I pressed my hands hard against my closed eyelids, willing my memory to paint clearer pictures for me…

“My lord.”

I sat up, startled. I hadn’t heard even a whisper of footfalls on the stone floor. Taden stood a few feet from the bed, his hands clasped in front of him and his head bowed. I’d seen him take the same posture with my father a thousand times, and it bothered me that he should be so formal with me.

“Taden. Hello,” I said, awkwardly shifting myself from the bed to stand up. “I didn’t hear you. Why have you come?”

I didn’t like the way he wouldn’t look at me. I didn’t like how forlorn it made me feel, to see him treat me like I was my father… but then his purpose became clear with his next words.

“As your father’s rooms and his duties have been passed down to you, so have my services, my lord,” Taden said in a quiet voice. “I am yours to command. My life is yours.”

“Taden, look at me,” I said, my throat tight.

Obediently, Taden lifted his eyes. There was great love in their depths still—but was it the love of a servant for his master? For a dear friendship rekindled? Or was there more?

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• Part 1
• Part 2
• Part 3