quasar273 | Fic: The Prince's Own

Fandom: The Prince Commands (book by Andre Norton)
Title: The Prince's Own
Author: Quasar
Rating: R
Length: about 5000 words
Summary: Slash missing scenes from the book
Notes: Written May 2005 for the Yuletide Treasure New Year's Resolutions.

The American attracted him, but he had a queer feeling. . .

Michael Karl lay in the warm feather bed at the Crown Inn, watching
the flicker of the dying fire. A short while ago he had been
exhausted; now his mind was racing and his body, though aching, felt
rather awake as well. One part of his body in particular didn't seem
to want to rest.

It had started when the American was bandaging his feet, of all things
-- those sure fingers holding him firmly in a way no one ever had, as
long as he could recall. The Colonel had only ever touched him for
punishment, and others had touched him for instruction, but when had
anyone ever touched Michael Karl to care for him? Not since his nurse
was sent away when he was five or six, he thought.

But Ericson had held his feet, and soothed his pain, and then
proceeded to undress him without hesitation. Fortunately the Cross of
St. Sebastian had distracted the man while Michael Karl had squirmed
out of his wet pants and into the borrowed pajama bottoms, and nothing
embarrassing had been revealed. But he still received help with the
pajama coat, and Ericson's warm fingers brushing across his bare
shoulder only intensified the sensations that had started with his
feet.

The Colonel's brusque, matter-of-fact lecture on the facts of life
hadn't covered anything like this, but Evans, the groom, had provided
a little more practical information. It was normal for a boy's body
to react suddenly, even to something that wouldn't be expected to
cause such a reaction or to nothing at all. But Michael Karl hadn't
suffered such unpredictable embarrassments for a couple of years now;
it usually only happened when he was thinking of something arousing.
He thought maybe the touch of another person's hands was something
that could be naturally arousing. But . . . a man's hands?

He'd read a book once that mentioned something about men doing such
things together, and the Colonel had punished him with a month of
close arrest when the book was discovered. But it only had very
sketchy information -- nothing useful at all -- and he had never felt
that he belonged in the same category as the men the characters in the
book had laughed and sneered at. Perhaps he did, though, if just a
few touches from a handsome man could make him feel as if he'd never
be able to relax again.

At last he gave in and hunted through the drawer of the bedside table
for a handkerchief. It wouldn't do to mess up a pair of borrowed
pajamas, after all. Then he thought of Ericson wearing these pajamas,
and his hand trembled with eagerness as he reached under the covers.

"I suppose you expect me to get all hot and bothered over Jan
thinking me young enough to enjoy milk, but I do."

Jan had brought a tray for Michael Karl and relayed strict orders for
him to stay in bed. A few minutes later Jan reappeared and a second
dinner was laid out on the table across the room. Ericson passed Jan
in the doorway and asked how Michael Karl's feet were feeling before
sitting at the small table.

The American chuckled and held up a small vase that had been set among
the assorted dishes. "Looks like Jan rescued your rose. I thought
you had thrown it away."

Michael Karl scowled down at his roast duck. "I should have, but I
guess I stuffed it in my coat pocket."

Ericson sniffed the blossom. "It's a lovely flower. Why waste it?"

Michael Karl just shrugged.

"It makes you uncomfortable?"

"I've never . . . I don't really know how to deal with women. There
were hardly any women around, when I was growing up. My nurse, when I
was little, and the cook, but I never saw much of her. There was a
dancing teacher for a while, but she must have been fifty at least."

Ericson laughed. "Positively decrepit!"

"She had a face like a prune. I never really learned what to do when
. . . you know."

"When a pretty girl admires you? Well, for a simple case like a
flower being tossed at you, you don't need to do anything in return.
Just appreciate it." Ericson stood and brought the little vase across
the room to set it next to the bed. Then he laid a hand on Michael
Karl's shoulder. "After dinner, we can work on advancing your
education a little."

Michael Karl wrinkled his nose. "I've been reading those history
books. What else do you want me to study?"

"The art of accepting and expressing admiration, for one."

"What, are you going to bring pretty girls here to flirt with me?"

The American laughed again. "No need for that. Morvanian custom has
its own way of dealing with sexual double standards." He returned to
the table and resumed his eating.

Michael Karl turned that over in his head for a minute, but it didn't
get any clearer. "What do you mean by a double standard?"

Ericson dabbed at his lips with a napkin. "Just that men are expected
to have a certain amount of experience before marriage, and women
aren't. A girl who has sex outside of marriage risks pregnancy and
disgrace."

"So . . . where do the men get their experience?"

"Precisely! That's the double standard. In most cultures, it means
that some women will have to be dishonored -- whores, in fact."

"But not in Morvanian culture?"

"In the mountains, and here in Rein, at least, they've retained some
of the old Greek customs. I'm sure you've noticed that the Morvanian
language has some strong ties to Greek as well."

"Er . . . I never learned any Greek."

"Oh, that's a shame. We'll add it to the list."

"But what customs are you talking about?"

"Just that it's fairly common here that when men look for sex outside
of marriage, they look for it with other men."

Michael Karl felt a wave of heat sweep up his face, and the dishes on
his tray clinked as he bumped it with his knee. He busied himself
mopping up a bit of splashed milk with his napkin while he tried to
think of something intelligent to say. "But, um, aren't men and women
different? I mean, does experience with men really help . . . ?"

"There are differences, certainly, but many of the principles are
still the same." Ericson was suddenly there, next to the bed, though
Michael Karl hadn't seen him move. He half-sat on the edge of the
bed and picked up the milk glass, handing it over with a small, amused
smile.

Michael Karl took it with a hand that felt as if it had on several
layers of gloves, and he drank so clumsily that some of it dribbled
down his chin. He groped for the napkin he'd set down earlier, but
Ericson was already reaching for him, holding him still with one cool
palm against his cheek while he wiped the droplets away with a
handkerchief. Then the American picked up the tray and carried it
over to the table, giving Michael Karl a chance to catch his breath.
His heart was pounding as if he'd just had another frantic run with
the Wolfmen on his heels.

After a minute of stacking his own dishes on the tray, the American
turned. "What do you think? Want to advance your education now?"

Michael Karl blinked. "Well . . . it's got to be more interesting
than those history books."

Ericson smiled slowly -- not his brilliant grin, but something more
personal. He carried the laden tray to the door, set it outside, and
shot the bolt. Then, with a curious intensity in his dark eyes, he
returned to the bed.

The American smiled with lazy admiration.

Ericson leafed through his mail and the replies Michael Karl had typed
up. "Well, you certainly have picked up my system pretty quickly --
and improved upon it. I don't know how I ever managed without you."

"I'm a fast learner." Michael Karl mopped up the gravy with his last
bit of bread and popped it into his mouth with an impudent grin. "In
more ways than one."

"Oh, so you're making progress with the language and history?"

"Mm-hmm. Not to mention those other exercises you showed me."
Michael Karl set his tray aside and pulled the letters from the
American's hand, tossing them onto the bedside table. "Come here and
we can go over them together."

With an indulgent grin, Ericson allowed himself to be hauled into the
bed. "Actually, I thought it might be time to start the next
chapter."

"And what's that?" Michael Karl was busy removing the American's
clothes.

"Well, we've studied speech, and touch, and kissing --" Ericson gasped
as Michael Karl demonstrated on a sensitive spot "-- and intimate
massage with hands and mouths. Now I think it's time for something a
little more involved." He rolled and reached a long arm into the bag
he had brought with him and left at the foot of the bed. He pulled
out a bottle of scented oil.

Michael Karl pulled his mouth free. "More massage? I enjoyed that."

"Not quite, my dear boy. Now, lie on your stomach, and I'll show you
exactly what I mean."

"His Majesty," answered the guard with stiff pride, "left that
there this morning."

Before it was quite time to ride out, Michael Karl remembered
something and popped into Urich's cabin. Sure enough, Ericson -- no,
the King -- had forgotten about the little blue book on the table,
with the lucky Tibetan rosary inside. The King had already left; too
late to give it to him now. Michael Karl slipped the book into his
pocket.

As he was leaving, he glanced back into the little room and frowned.
"The only comfortable cot in the camp, eh?"

"Do you think," said Michael Karl, "that I would miss seeing you on
the throne after I had worked as hard as I have to put you there?"

After the Doctor had left, Urlich Karl came to perch on the edge of
the bed again, only this time somewhat closer to the head. Michael
Karl looked up at him expectantly, trying to smile without using his
cheek muscles.

The King brushed a light hand over the bandages on either side of his
face -- the large one on his right cheek, and the newer, smaller one
on the left. "You shouldn't have goaded Laupt," Urlich Karl said. "I
could tell he wasn't bluffing."

"You shouldn't have let him try to manipulate you," Michael Karl
returned, catching the King's hand in his own.

"I was just stalling for time." Urlich Karl watched soberly as
the boy lipped at his fingers. "Are you certain you're all right?
Can you even move your head?"

Michael Karl craned his neck a little to one side and the other.
"It's a little stiff, but not too bad. Come on." He pushed back the
corner of the coverlet and patted the sheets at his side.

The King hesitated.

Michael Karl stilled. "Now that you're King, does that mean you can't
. . . expand my education anymore?"

The dark eyes, so like his own, looked down at him. "Now that you
know I'm your cousin, do you still want me to?"

"Of course. Come on, it's been ages!"

Urlich Karl laughed and bent to peel off his boots before slipping in
at the side of the bed. "Don't exaggerate, whelp. It's only been --
what, four or five days?"

"Seems longer."

"Like a lifetime." Urlich Karl bent to kiss him, but paused again as
his hand encountered the bandages. "Listen, Michael Karl --"

The boy stiffened and levered himself up to sit higher. This
didn't sound good.

"As King, I will have to be more discreet. And I'll be very busy,
too, almost all the time."

"So you're saying you really can't."

"I can, but not every night. I don't want you to feel . . . well, I
don't want to pressure you into anything."

Michael Karl studied the King. He felt certain that was desire he saw
along with the concern in Urlich Karl's eyes. "Pressure, right," he
snorted, and started undoing his cousin's shirt buttons. "Stop being
stubborn and noble. Does it look like I'm being pressured?"

"Not particularly." Urlich Karl slipped a hand into Michael Karl's
collar, caressing his neck and shoulder. "But are you sure you're up
to this right now? Whether you realize it or not, you're covered in
bruises."

Michael Karl paused and pulled the front of his pajamas outward so he
could peek down them. "Huh. If I didn't know about that, how did
you?"

"We had to check you for wounds, after you collapsed like that. Even
when we didn't see anything serious, I was afraid there might be
internal bleeding. I never want to be scared like that again, Michael
Karl."

Michael Karl knew he had to distract the King from this line of
thinking before he got into one of the dark moods he had displayed a
couple of times in the house on the Pala Horn. "So, you stripped me
naked in the Cathedral, in front of that whole crowd?" He glanced up
mischievously, discovering again that it was painful to smile and
trying to let his eyes do the work instead. "Isn't that what some
people would call . . . kinky?" He dipped a hand into the King's
shirt for a strategic pinch.

Urlich Karl groaned and pulled the boy closer to him. "Scamp. I'll
show you kinky," he growled, and kissed Michael Karl in earnest.

"That is sort of the point," Michael Karl shot back when he had his
mouth free for a moment.

By the time Urlich Karl got to sleep, he was thoroughly distracted
from any dark thoughts.

"But you really do look charming, my boy." The King raised an
imaginary eyeglass and surveyed him through it. "That uniform is very
becoming. You should always wear black."

The King frowned and stabbed at his lunch with unusual violence.
Michael Karl thought he must be worried about the trial, but a moment
later the King murmured, "I didn't realize it was such a close
business at the Cathedral Steps."

Sitting next to Michael Karl, Urich made a strange noise and put down
his fork.

Michael Karl shrugged. "It was nasty for a bit, but Cobentz and the
others could see we were going to win it or they wouldn't have run.
Without their officers, and without machine guns, there was no way the
rebels could hold out against cavalry."

"But you didn't know they had no machine guns, when you charged.
Alone." Urlich Karl glowered at his young cousin.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," said Urich. "I had no idea what he was
about to do."

Michael Karl snorted. "What would you have done, stopped me? It was
the only thing that made sense."

"We should all have charged together. Instead, you were alone against
that mob. When you went down, I really thought that rebel had killed
you. Your Highness." Stiffening as he remembered propriety, Urich
nodded to the head of the table. "Your Majesty."

Michael Karl wasn't worried about stuffy conventions; he ignored the
King and looked straight at Urich. "I meant for him to think he had
killed me. That was the point. It kept the mob off me for a bit, and
you finished them off."

"I should have been at Your Royal Highness's side," Urich insisted.
"That's the job of an aide-de-camp. If Your Majesty wishes me to
resign my commission --"

"Hang on!" Michael Karl interrupted. "The Black Coats are the Crown
Prince's command. It's my decision whether to keep you or fire you.
The King has nothing to say about it."

"I would point out," said Urlich Karl dryly, "that the King has not,
in fact, said anything about it." He gave Michael Karl a strangely
twisted smile. "You sound exactly like me, you know, when I promoted
Urich two years ago and the old King objected. I must say I don't
appreciate being cast in my grandfather's role."

Duke Johann, who had been listening to all this with sleepy interest,
patted his lips with his napkin. "As amusing as all this history is,
perhaps we should get back to present concerns. What do you think of
Cobentz's chances, your Majesty?"

The conversation returned to official business, and Urich even managed
to eat a little of his lunch, with urgings from Michael Karl.

Urich was a great deal more than an ordinary aide-de-camp. Since
the hour when the King had called him into the forest hut and
presented Michael Karl as his future commander, he had made himself
guide, guard, and best of all, friend.

Michael Karl sighed as he sank to the bed and pulled at his boots.
The evening had been amazingly boring, full of stuffed shirts and
droning diplomatic speeches. Being recognized by England and America
was enormously important, he knew -- but did they have to put everyone
to sleep while they were doing it? It was just like the weeks he had
spent traveling with Oberdamnn and Kafner, a prisoner in silken
chains.

At least he'd always had Urich at his elbow, ready with an explanatory
comment or a grin for one of Michael Karl's more sardonic
observations. But it wasn't the same as being able to share with his
cousin.

Michael Karl had thought earlier that the King must be lonely in his
solitary position, as much a prisoner as Michael Karl had felt under
Oberdamnn's control. Maybe a Crown Prince would be a welcome
companion for the King, the closest thing to a social equal he could
have. But the few times Michael Karl managed to approach Urlich Karl
and talk to him, it seemed he'd adopted the royal persona so
thoroughly there was no room left for friendship.

Today's coronation ceremony and the evening audience were the first
time Michael Karl had seen his cousin in over two weeks -- since the
night after Cobentz was convicted, in fact. "I will be very busy,"
the King had told him, and "not every night." Michael Karl hadn't
realized he meant never!

But maybe Urlich Karl wanted it that way. Duke Johann had called
Michael Karl a "pretender." Did the King think of him that way, as a
rival and a threat? Was he still expecting Michael Karl to leave at
the first opportunity? Did he want him to leave?

He was staring off into nowhere, his boots forgotten until Urich
crouched before him. "Let me help, Your Highness." He gripped one
heel firmly to pull the boot free.

Michael Karl looked at the young man kneeling at his feet and felt the
strange emotions that had been surging inside him all night focus down
to something clear and hard. "Thanks, Urich. I don't know what I'd
do without you."

Urich grinned, set the boots aside, and stood to lift the red sash
over Michael Karl's head. He folded it carefully and then started on
the long row of buttons that went down the side of Michael Karl's
tunic.

Michael Karl felt a warm shiver go up his spine at the attentions.

Urich glanced up questioningly, and something in his eyes softened.
He lifted a hand and almost -- not quite -- brushed the scar on
Michael Karl's cheek. "I still can hardly believe you survived that
charge. When that rebel fired and I saw you go down . . . "

Michael Karl snorted. "Come on, you'd known me for maybe twelve hours
at that point. And most of that time I was sleeping, or asking stupid
questions, or shouting."

Urich returned to the tunic buttons, his cheeks going slightly pink.
"You find the measure of a man quickly in battle. I knew by then you
were a true Karloff, and a true commander."

Now it was Michael Karl who began to flush.

"How long did you know the King before you were ready to die for him?"
Urich asked pointedly.

"Who said I was ready to die for him?"

"You did, with your battle cry."

The King! Morvania and the King! "Oh. Yes, well I suppose
. . . but it took longer than twelve hours!" Michael Karl thought of
his early acquaintance with the man he'd thought of as the American,
and soon more than just his face was growing warm. "Two days, at the
very least."

Urich chuckled and pulled the tunic free. He reached for the shirt
fastenings at the same moment as Michael Karl, and their hands
collided.

Michael Karl curled his fingers around the older man's and held them
still, catching his gaze.

Why not? he thought. This was, after all, precisely the sort
of situation that Urlich Karl had been "educating" him to deal with.
And it didn't look as if the King would have much need for him now.

He stood slowly and pulled Urich close, never dropping his eyes until
they were close enough to feel each other's breath. He licked
tentatively at the seam of Urich's lips.

Urich pulled back, his eyes bright and his breathing coming quickly.
"I -- Your Highness, I am honored --"

Michael Karl dropped his hands and scowled. "I wasn't trying to honor
you. I wanted to please you."

"I am! You did. But I can't . . ."

Urlich Karl's lessons had covered graceful acceptance or rejection of
an offer, but not graceful acceptance of rejection. Michael Karl
tried to pull himself up with dignity, but it wasn't easy in stocking
feet with his shirt half unfastened.

Urich was still trying to explain himself. "I don't want to hurt His
Majesty."

Michael Karl felt a chill like a cold shower descend over his
shoulders. He remembered the cot in Urich's cabin, and the book on
his table. "Get out, then. I won't need your help any more tonight."
He turned away and began fumbling with his shirt for something to do,
even though he didn't want to be bared any further to Urich's gaze.

"Your Highness, I -- I'm sorry . . ."

"Go!" Michael Karl snapped, then tried to soften it a little. "I'll
see you at the banquet in the morning." After all, it wasn't Urich's
fault that Michael Karl had completely misread the situation, was it?

A moment later he heard the door snick closed, and he cast himself
wearily onto the bed. It was his eyes that prickled with heat now.
"Damn," he muttered into the pillow.

"Didn't want you!" and the way Urlich Karl said it settled all his
cousin's doubts forever.

At last, Michael Karl was lying in the enormous royal bed he had seen
that day he discovered the secret passage. He found the room much
less intimidating with Urlich Karl beside him. It was only furniture,
after all, and the satin sheets were rather nice.

The sheets were thrown back at the moment, since they were both rather
heated, and Michael Karl was just beginning to recover his breath. He
felt a warm, callused hand tracing the edges of his shoulder blades,
and he turned his head to grin at the King. "We should do that every
night."

Urlich Karl chuckled. "I only wish we could. I'll have more free
time when we're at the Summer Palace."

Michael Karl remembered something, and his grin faded. "What about--"
He broke off.

"What?"

"At dinner, Duke Johann was saying you'd have to get married."

"Not right away. I have a perfectly good heir --" At this, Urlich
Karl's hand moved a little lower for a hearty slap "-- so the
succession is in no danger."

Michael Karl made a face. "That just means I'll have to get
married!"

"Only if you want to, whelp. No reason we should both have to
suffer."

"But won't your wife -- a Queen -- wouldn't she object to this?"
Michael Karl waved between the two of them.

"That depends where she's from. If she's Morvanian, she'll likely
have a similar arrangement with one or more of her ladies in waiting."

Michael Karl was arrested by the image. "They can do that?"

"Of course they can, silly boy. But, Michael Karl . . ." The King
brushed his cheek again. "If she does object, I'll have to try it her
way, at least for a while. I mean to make a proper try at it, even if
the match is mainly diplomatic."

Michael Karl nodded solemnly. "I understand."

"But that's years in the future. In the meantime, we have the Summer
Palace to look forward to. And I think there are a few chapters of
advanced material we haven't covered yet." With a grin, the King
leaned in to nip at Michael Karl's earlobe. "And if I'm too busy, or
too old to keep up with your youthful desires . . ."

This time it was Michael Karl who slapped the King in a tender spot.

"Stop that, whelp! I was just going to say that you do have other
options, you know. I'm sure Urich would oblige -- he's become very
fond of you."

Michael Karl stiffened.

"What's wrong?"

"Urich." Michael Karl sighed. "I offended him the other night by
making an offer."

Urlich Karl frowned. "Why would that offend him?"

"He thought it would hurt you." Michael Karl closed his eyes. "Were
you . . . with him?"

"Yes, but not for over a year. Since before the old King died."

"But . . . in the camp, in the mountains, you said --"

"Said what?"

"That he had the only comfortable cot."

Urlich Karl looked puzzled for a moment, then threw his head back and
laughed. "The most comfortable in the camp, I said, but that wasn't
saying much! And it was hardly big enough for two. You should know
that -- you slept there yourself."

"Just slept, though. I was exhausted."

"So was I. I was supposed to return to the Werewolf's headquarters
that night, but I was nearly asleep on my feet. Colonel Haupthan
offered his cabin, but Urich said his was in a quieter spot. Then,
when we were out of the Colonel's earshot, Urich whispered to me that
the Colonel's bed sagged as badly as his chin."

Michael Karl laughed. "So you didn't do anything that night?"

Urlich Karl kissed him lingeringly. "I was too tired, and too busy
worrying about you, young whelp. I suspected you might be getting
into trouble in my absence, and I was right!"

"I'll have to apologize to Urich. Or explain, or something."

"It sounds like I should do the explaining. I wonder why he thought
it would hurt me?" Urlich Karl returned to tracing patterns on the
cooling skin of Michael Karl's back. "He must have realized I was
afraid of losing you."

"Oh. I didn't think of it that way. We could both explain it to him,
together."

Urlich Karl grinned wickedly. "Excellent idea! The Summer Palace
should be private enough for that."

It took Michael Karl a moment to figure out what the King was
implying, and then his face heated all over again. "What, all three
of us -- together?"

"That's one of the advanced topics I was referring to," said Urlich
Karl, kissing him again.

Michael Karl found parts of himself beginning to take a renewed
interest. "In that case," he murmured, turning toward his cousin, "I
think we'd better review some of the earlier material first."

The Beginning...