The prince, the knight, and the dragon

by brazboy

 Years ago a curse was created, connecting the fate of the Northern Empire and that of the Southern Kingdom, but also the fates of the Empire’s first Prince, Alecrias, and that of a Dragon which appeared in the southern mountains and seems to behave in ways that benefit the Southern Kingdom. Can his loyal knight and lover, Sir Oberion, save the Prince from being sacrificed to the Dragon? Can the curse be lifted, and what is its true nature?

Added: Oct 2021 Updated: 6 Nov 2021 25,069 words 3,133 views 4.5 stars (2 votes)

T

The Southern Kingdom had been at war against the Northern Empire for generations. Due to their mountainous border, the dispute had long been stuck in a stalemate, but recently the Northern Empire had made a string of key gains and taken the all-important Algezair pass—thusly threatening the Southern Kingdom’s northern provinces with invasion.

The Southern Kingdom was shaken by the loss of the Algezair pass, and questions started to be asked about the country’s leadership. Soon, the King’s Chief Court Mage was instructed to create an inquisition to investigate the crimes and sins which could be responsible for the humiliating losses in the north. This inquisition was implemented ruthlessly, being used by the King and his Chief Court Mage to crush all opposition, real and imaginary, to the central power of the realm—nobles were charged with crimes so their fortunes could be stolen, army officers were killed so their positions would be given to loyalists, and other mages were accused so that the Chief Court Mage’s power would be unrivaled and uncontested.

Carmin was one of the most powerful mages of the Southern Kingdom, and one the King’s Chief Court Mage was particularly afraid of, for he knew too many of the old secrets. For that he and his handsome apprentice were condemned to burn at the stake, accused of practicing black magic and sodomy, both capital crimes in the Southern Kingdom. Carmin turned himself in so he could give his apprentice a chance to run away—a perilous journey ahead of him, as he roamed the crime-infested side roads on his way to the safety of the Northern Empire.

For Carmin’s execution a large spectacle was planned in the southern capital’s main square—clowns, singers and other artists were called to entertain the large crowd, and the King himself gave a speech. His words were harsh but optimistic, as the purge—he said—had cleansed the country of the sinners and traitors which made them lose to the North.

“And so here we punish, according to the will of the Gods, those for whose sins all of the Southern Kingdom has suffered,” the King asserted. “Let them die for their sins, so we don’t.”

And thus, Carmin was burned in red fire—remaining stoic and silent, until an internal force seemed to take over him and his eyes turned blue. At that very moment, the flames grew so much that it seemed that they had been given life by a gush of air—their heat multiplied, burning the people in crowd closest to the fire, making many run away while shouting in fear. While the blazing flames that consumed his body reached the sky, Carmin’s voice proclaimed to the thousands watching his death—including the most important members of the Royal Court:

“This injustice will not go unpunished, heed my curse, for which I give my life,” screamed the burning mage. “The fire that burns me will burn the Southern Kingdom’s future. It will never be controlled nor contained, as it kills and consumes against its own free will. There will be no amends, no scars, only a total submission to the worst of your enemies!”

As he finished his words, a light emerged from the fire and shot towards the skies. While Carmin’s body turned to ashes, a bright red fire bird emerged amidst these lights and flew away towards the North. The crowd rested in silence thinking of that ominous curse, the King’s Chief Mage being the only one who was left smiling, as his enemy burned away and withered.


The Prince of the Northern Empire was yet an eight-year-old child, playing in his father’s immense gardens, gathering lemons and oranges from the trees scattered around with his best friend, the son of the Grand Duke. While he was up in a tree picking up oranges, a light emerged in the southern sky, growing by the second as it seemed to come their way—soon, the kids could identify it as having the form of a red bird which looked like it was made of fire.

“What is that?” the Prince asked, pointing towards the sky. His friend just shrugged.

“A comet?” replied the other boy, as confused as the first.

The burning bird came like an arrow towards them, at an incredible speed. The Prince couldn’t take his eyes from the weird comet-like bird, and so he didn’t even realize it was approaching them so rapidly. Soon, it burned its way through the branches and leaves of the tree in which the boys played, hitting the Prince in the chest with such strength that he fell from the tree all the way to the ground—his clothes on fire, his skin, burnt.

The Grand Duke’s son screamed in horror as he saw his friend in the ground, and one second later he felt the pain caused by the many burns that the firebird inflicted on him by passing so close to his boyish body. Crying, afraid and tormented, the little noble boy ran away to ask for help—what in the world had just happened?

The Northern Empire had had some great military victories overt the Southern Kingdom 15 years before, but since then the war had stagnated. Even worse, in the last 5 years the Northern Empire had turned less proactive, as the usual challenges of a border war were joined by a new one—a large white dragon which terrorized the garrisons, forts, and even villages of the southern provinces. This dragon was enormous—its wingspan was of 15 meters, it weighted more than a ton; it could eat a whole cow at once, and it burned houses with its fiery breath. Worse even, reports over time said it was still growing in size, and it seemed to never attack the lands of the neighboring Southern Kingdom.

If initially the Dragon seemed a bit afraid, attacking mostly farms, small villages and garrisons, over time it seemed to gain not only in size but also in confidence. After a few years it dared to attack the provincial capital of Dara, and even the strong fort Andalaq, which controlled the Algezair pass—in a movement strangely followed less than a day later by an unsuccessful attack by the Southern Kingdom. Now, after five years, the unimaginable happened: the Dragon had attacked the Imperial capital itself, many hundreds of kilometers away from the border, leaving it burning for three days and three nights after his fiery attacks.

This situation led to the Emperor going to the Great Temple of the Vestals, to ask for instructions on how to deal with the beast—continuing to ignore the problem was only making it worse and, if it continued, they might end up losing their upper hand against the Southern Kingdom. The priestesses of the Great Temple of the Vestals then read the books of Silene, which recorded the prophecies of the Northern Empire, and came up to the Emperor with a solution:

“There is but one way for the Empire to suppress the Dragon and win the war once and for all—the most handsome man of the Empire has to be given to the Dragon in sacrifice,” proclaimed the leader of the Vestals.

The Emperor didn’t like the idea of sacrificing one of his subjects to the Dragon, but he had always been a great leader who put the interest of his subjects ahead of everything—including his own morals qualms. After three days of thinking, decided to follow their advice, he returned to the Great Temple of the Vestals in order to ask them who was this man that he should sacrifice to the Dragon.

“Will you make the sacrifice regardless of who that is?” asked the leader of the Vestals, bringing in a bowl of full of water.

“Yes, nothing can be above the needs of the people,” he replied, and she nodded.

“Then look into the bowl,” she said, giving the object to the Emperor. He looked into it, and first he saw his own reflection, until a droplet of his sweat fell from his brows onto the bowl—his eyes then became turbid and he saw another figure: his eldest son, the Prince Imperial.

“It cannot be!” he said, letting the bowl fall on the ground, shattering it to pieces. The leader of the Vestals kneeled down so she read the fortune on the broken pieces of ceramic.

“And yet so it is,” she said, slowly, picking up the broken pieces of the bowl one by one. “In the eyes of your heart you already knew, Your Majesty. That’s why it took you three days to ask me who it was,” she said, without ever looking up to him. Angry, but also decided, the Emperor cursed the skies.

“So what is to be done now?” he asked, stepping onto a particularly big piece of ceramics and crushing it under his shoes.

“You must look for the Court Mages and plan for the sacrifice,” she said, still picking up the pieces. “Once the Prince is sacrificed to the Dragon, all will fall in place,” she completed. The Emperor thanked her for her assistance, and left the Temple of the Vestals without looking back.

All he could do now was pray.

The Emperor went to the Prince Imperial’s private chamber where he asked the courtiers to leave them alone so that they could have a serious conversation. He then told the Prince about the prophecy, and asked him to give his life for the country.

“I will not force you to do it, but I will ask it of you—not as your Emperor, but as your father,” said the ruler of the Northern Empire.

The Price nodded, but, losing the strength in his legs when he heard what his father was asking of him, he fell to his knees—a show of weakness and selfishness he’d later chastise himself for. Soon, the young man recovered his composure, however—he stood up and, looking straight into his father’s teary eyes, he proclaimed:

“I shall do it, Father. Giving my life for the country is what I was born to do, it matters little whether it is now or in many years’ time.” His father nodded and, incapable of really saying anything else—fearing he’d cry if he tried—he just left the Prince to himself.

The Prince Imperial then slowly moved towards his bed—still weak in the legs—where he laid and cried for several minutes. He was only interrupted by the appearance of his best friend—the only one who’d be courageous enough to enter his room uninvited. The other man closed the door behind him, and walked slowly towards the weeping prince. He then sat beside him on the bed and started caressing his back while the royal cried his eyes out.

Feeling the human touch made the Prince feel less alone, and suddenly his mute cry turned into loud sobbing, although he still couldn’t move his head from the pillow onto which he shed his tears.

“What is the problem?” asked the Grand Duke’s son, who had in the last 15 years also become a strong and handsome young man, the most powerful and skilled knight in the Empire.

“There’s a prophecy involving me,” the Prince responded, while still sobbing on his bed, unable to look up with his red eyes towards the strong knight stroking his back. “I shall be given to the Dragon in order to appease him and win the southern war,” he completed. The Knight immediately rose in anger and stomped his food on the wooden floor.

“That’s impossible! It shall not happen!” he proclaimed. “We must talk to your father!”

“He just talked to me. He is the one who told me about it. Apparently, there are no other option,” the Prince said, almost silently. “I must fulfill my duty to the country and the people.”

The Knight then closed the distance between him and the Prince, using his strong arms to raise him from his bed, forcing his beloved’s teary face to look directly into his own green eyes—which overflowed with resolve and revolt.

“It shall not happen!” repeated the Knight. “I will come with you, and I shall slay the Dragon,” he said, slowly, and then sighed. The Knight continued staring the Prince Imperial in the eyes, to try to communicate the full depth of his statements, as he continued: “Your death would not be fulfilling your duty to the Empire or the people; your duty is to rule and to become the best ruler you can possibly be, not to die! This is madness! I will not allow it to happen, it will not happen.”

“But the Gods will it. It was written in the books of Silene,” said the handsome prince, quietly, looking away from the Knight’s powerful gaze. His fears and sadness slowly starting to mutate into something else, however, due to the fire in the Knight’s words.

“Even the Vestals cannot know everything,” said the Knight, slowly, using his hand to lock the Prince’s eyes back into his own. “And if they are right, even if the Gods do will it, it doesn’t matter. My duty is to you, not to the Gods,” he completed, more softly, and then approached his face closer and closer to that of the Prince’s. Their forehead touched, and then their lips touched, closing the space between them in a passionate kiss.

“Apparently your sword is already prepared for battle,” said the Prince, his hand moving towards the Knight’s loin. “The mightiest in the land,” the Prince remarked as he felt the Knight’s hard bulge, and the Knight laughed.

“Maybe the mightiest, but not the most eager,” replied the Knight, moving the Price so his body would face up, and not down towards the bed. The Knight then climbed on top of the Prince’s imperial body—sitting in such a position that left their two hard cocks rubbing in one another, even if they were both still covered.

“It’s only a shame we won’t be able to be together for much longer,” said the Prince, and the Knight frowned.

“We will be together, bathing on Dragon blood, before you return as a savior to rub it in the face of those stupid Vestals,” said the Knight, before completing, “and then we’ll be together again in your bed, for many times to come,” as he moved his hips back and forth so his bulge rubbed more intensively against the imperial junk. The Prince smiled a little, but above all he bit his lips as his cock got harder, revealing his majestic endowment as it peeked out of his pants.

The Knight then lowered his hands towards the Prince’s torso, so he could start removing the Prince’s jacket and shirt. As he revealed the Prince Imperial’s strong muscles, chiseled abs and surprisingly meaty pecs, the Knight also saw that large bird-shaped scar just above the Prince’s heart—a legacy from their childhood. His mind wondered a little towards the past, reminding him of the oath he made to himself so long ago as he stroked the scarred skin—to do his best, to be his best, so he could always protect the Prince.

The feelings that flooded the Knight in that very moment made him want to cry, scream and destroy, all at once—he wanted to slay his way out of this conundrum immediately, to cut the Dragon’s throat right here and now. But his mind was also filled with lust, as his body was so close to that of the Prince’s, and in such a purposeful position. Soon, he was taking off his own clothes, as the Prince helped him, and they were rubbing their naked cocks together. While the Knight delighted his eyes on the Prince’s handsome and well-proportionate frame, the Prince appreciated the Knight’s powerful and almost overgrown V-shaped torso, subsequently moving his hands to stroke the larger man’s juicy pecs.

“I always considered myself the luckiest man in the Empire,” said the Prince, his handsome face shining with desire. The Knight smiles back, once again impressed by how handsome the Prince was in every way. Then, he moved down towards the Prince and started licking his pecs—with a special attention towards his nipples—subsequently moving south towards his abs, and finally his own large imperial spear and rocks.

The Knight glanced the Prince’s beautiful spear: the perfect shape, impossibly straight, fat like a cannon, the size of a lesser man’s forearm. Filled with desire, he took the Prince’s spear in his mouth, licking its head first and then engulfing more and more of it—the Prince started to moan in delight, as his skillful mate took more of his lengthy shaft, all the way to the root, and then extended his tongue out to play with his apple-sized balls. Soon, the Prince was unable to contain himself, and so he started to move his hips up and down, forcing himself in and out of his partner’s hungry mouth. He moaned, the Knight groaned, and they both shed salty sweat as they shared that delightful movement—the Prince’s balls hitting his own ass as he hammered his cock up into and out of the Knight’s mouth.

While being facefucked, the Knight then looked downwards—with a mischievous thought, he took his middle finger towards the imperial ass, starting to caress the edge of the Prince Imperials’s tight asshole.

“Put it in,” commanded the royal, with a voice so humbled that it seemed more like a wish or even a plead than an order. The Knight couldn’t respond with words, as his mouth was busy pleasuring his best friend’s spear, so he did something else: he took the imperial rod out of his mouth, and moved his lips downwards, towards the princely bottom, which he started to lick. Meanwhile, his hand moved upwards, to stroke the Prince’s marble tower with a passion and a brutality his mouth and tongue were incapable of.

The Prince lost himself in pleasure as his cock was tortured by the Knight’s brutal and harsh, yet loving touch. He panted and voiced his compliments to his beloved Knight, showering him with the praise one would reserve to a Hero, or a demigod, between increasingly loud moans.

“Ahh, Oberion, fuck me already!” requested the Prince, while the Knight’s tongue played in his asshole, the electricity running towards his system forcing him to overheat.

Oberion, the mightiest Knight of the Empire, could only comply to such a direct a command from his suzerain and lover. For a second his touch left the Prince’s body completely—his tongue and his hands both abandoning the imperial ass and rod. Soon, however, Oberion’s hand was readjusting the Prince’s position, moving him so that his legs now pointed upwards, widening his butt cheeks and allowing him to bring his enormous sword closer and closer to the princely asshole.

His sword was legendary amongst the troops—Oberion was praised for it by his fellow knights, and by all who had seen it, or even heard of it. Some had compared him to a mule, others to stallions, bulls, and even elephants—but he didn’t much like any of those comparisons. The Prince, once, had made another analogy: to the Imperial palm trees that surrounded the Palace, each 55 to 60 meters in height. He once joked to Oberion:

“They remind me of you, but in a scale of 1 to 100,” he had said. It was a joke, but it had become pretty accurate over the years. Although the imperial family was itself pretty well endowed, the Grand Ducal family was widely known for producing a long line of men gifted in the battlefield and in the bedchamber—a long and fat line was indeed one easy way to describe Oberion’s obelisk.

Oberion positioned his dick in the valley between the Prince’s ass cheeks, and then teased him by rubbing his whole length horizontally against the muscular canyon.

“Don’t torture me!” asked the Prince, and Oberion—once more—complied to his wishes, first covering his cock in his spit, and then inserting it slowly in his lover’s back cave, causing him to moan and let his arms to the sides, releasing tension. “Oh, Gods, Oberion! Hmmm, deeper,” voiced the Prince, his tone becoming more mellow, more intimate, more relaxed.

Once he was deep enough inside the Prince, the Knight opened his legs and supported them on the bed far apart from one another, so he could thrust his cock more easily into the imperial body in front of him. The powerful Oberion also had to use his arms to support his body above the Princes, adjusting its height perfectly for his thrusts—but that was not at all a problem for his mighty muscles. Not overly patient, the Prince then widened his legs and used them to hug the Knight more or less around his butt while commanding him to pound faster. Oberion obeyed, and started pulling his sword out of the Prince’s ass, before shoving it back in to their great delight, repeatedly, violently, incessantly.

As they fucked, the Prince complimented Oberion ever more, calling his name in different tones—sometimes soft, sometimes harsh; grateful and commanding; alluring and intimate. Oberion’s large mango-sized balls also beat the Prince’s ass cheeks, causing them both an extra surge in pleasure as they fucked. The Prince loved it, he needed it, he demanded it, but soon his desire was so overwhelming that he pushed Oberion to the side and down with his legs, getting on top of him, and started riding his immense cock using his own cultivated lower muscles to defy gravity. Trying to get the most pleasure, the Prince then removed the cock from his asshole, turned around, and inserted it back in again, laying his back on Oberion’s body until his ass consumed the Knight’s sword’s whole length.

“By the Gods, Alecrias!” cried a delighted Oberion, as the Prince Imperial hammered his ass on his length.

Alecrias groaned and then used his legs to continue hammering his ass on Oberion’s cock. With one hand, he supported his torso as he lowered it further and further on his lover, so the angle of their fucking became even more pleasurable. The other hand Alecrias used to stroke his own spear, which was juggling around as his body moved up and down, back and forth—soon, however, that hand was replaced by Oberion’s larger fingers, which encapsulated the imperial rod with great strength and no mercy, starting to stroke and yield it violently.

“Oh, oh, oh, fuuuck!” groaned the heir to the Empire, his ass full, his cock being tortured, his whole being wishing for a release. And yet Oberion was the first to give in, moaning as his immense balls pumped warm male juice into the Prince’s tight ass.

“Hmmmm, take it all, all of my seed!” repeated Oberion, along his final movements of hammering the princely ass before coming. His orgasm only strengthened his lover’s resolve, and as it also strengthened the speed and aggressiveness of his hold of the Prince’s cock, and as such soon Alecrias was also coming—his fluids being shot up towards his pecs and abs, covering his nice body in over a dozen shots white, thick cum.

As the two lovers caught their breaths, Alecrias looked back—Oberion’s cock still inside him—so they could kiss. They kissed for a while, before Oberion pulled from inside of Alecrias, and forced himself from being under the prince’s body to being besides it. Seeing the imperial lad covered in sweat and cum, however, Oberion chose to lick him clean—which Alecrias initially protested against, before Oberion reminded him that it was his right to do so, as his lover, and also because Alecrias had previously done that to Oberion.

Oberion licking the Prince, however, was not conducive to pacifying the erotic tension between the two, and indeed—as the Knight had in fact expected, if not hoped—descended into them giving each other mutual blowjobs until their family jewels were properly drained of their noble juices. Then, and only then, could the two young lords leave the bed and go sort their official duties.

The Emperor followed the advice of the Council of the Court Mages and prepared a sacrifice ritual in a village near the foot of the Barrain Mountains which served as the frontier between the Southern Kingdom and the Northern Empire. The village that was chosen was one which the Dragon had attacked several times in the last few months. Although the ritual itself was small, it was still significant, and so materials and tents were brought to make a small encampment where a small group could be hosted before an auspicious date for the ritual would come. The Emperor chose to be present, despite the risk, because beyond a ruler he was a father, and although he doubted he’d ever forgive himself for this ritual, he thought he’d at least want to watch the consequences of his own decisions and suffer through them with his son.

Besides His Majesty and the Prince Imperial, only a small entourage was taken from the capital to the village, as not to arouse suspicions over their purpose: two of the Court Mages, about two dozens of the members of the Imperial Guard, and Oberion—the son of the Grand Duke of the Westernlands, under the request of the Prince–, besides a number of soldiers, serfs and slaves. The Emperor did not object to Oberion’s presence, of course, as he was a loyal and useful knight, probably stronger than ten or eleven members of the Imperial Guard combined. He was also not blind to the relationship the Grand Duke’s son had with the first Prince, of course, and although he couldn’t say he approved such a relationship he had decided to indulge his son’s requests on that matter—at least in these final days.

“Tomorrow will be an auspicious day,” said the eldest of the two accompanying Court Mages to the Emperor, after reading the omens. The Emperor walked from one side to the other inside his campaign tent—the omens had been bad for a week, so he had allowed his heart to forget the sacrifice, but apparently the time had come.

“What do you think, Darulin?” the Emperor asked the other Mage, a taller and younger figure, only in his early 30s, but extremely powerful and knowledgeable.

“I agree with Master Aldaralan, Your Majesty. We should do it tomorrow,” replied the mage, who dressed the costumes of a foreigner.

“Then it will be so,” the Emperor commanded, sighing and sitting on his gold-platted wooden throne, before asking: “Tell me again, how do we know for certain that the Dragon will come to us?”

“It’s simple, Your Majesty,” said Darulin, moving a small silver coin with a ruby in the middle between his fingers. “The Prince Imperial and the Dragon are already connected, so he is bound to come kill him. The Dragon is the fruit of a curse created by the Southern Kingdom to try to destroy the Northern Empire; however, the Prince Imperial caries the curse of my former teacher, Master Calin, which will lead to the destruction of the Southern Kingdom. The books of Silene only confirmed this suspicion, but the sacrifice of the Prince Imperial will certainly lead to overcoming this hurdle and opening the final opportunity to destroy the Southern Kingdom once and for all,” said the mage.

The Emperor, still sitting on his throne, took a sip from one of the tea cups which had been placed on a small table next to him.

“If only my son didn’t have to be sacrificed for it,” he said, looking empty. “Tell me, Master Darulin, why did your teacher create a curse that came with so much pain?” asked the sovereign. Darulin seemed unbothered by the question.

“Unfortunately, Your Majesty, my teacher didn’t have the time to cast the best possible curse, or to plan it ahead of time. We intended to scape and for all I know he conjured the magic while burning at the stake, so it is not surprising that it would have quite terrible results and be rough around the edges, as he was filled with anger and pain…,” said the younger mage, before being interrupted by the older one.

“What is surprising is his curse worked at all. Calin was really a great warlock, one of the greatest of his generation,” commented Aldaralan. “I just wish we had better information on the Southern Kingdom. We have no reports of the consequences of the curse there, but there must have been some effect.”

“The death of the King’s three oldest sons, I believe, might have come from it,” said Darulin, and Aldaralan nodded.

“Which only makes it more mysterious why the fourth son is yet alive and unscathed,” the elder pondered.

“Maybe they found a mage capable of reversing the curse or paralyzing it?” asked the Emperor, but Aldaralan shook his head.

“It’s unlikely, Your Majesty, or else we would have noticed due to the Prince Imperial’s connection to the curse,” said the old wise man. Darulin agreed and complemented:

“And a mage as powerful as my teacher, making a final curse paid in blood, that’s not something you undo without a high cost.”

“A sacrifice?” asked the Emperor.

“More than one,” responded Master Darulin. “Many, many more.”


Oberion had come to visit Alecrias in his large, beautifully decorated tent. He didn’t carry his full military gear, only his sword, and he wore normal civilian clothes. The four members of the Imperial Guard keeping the entrance allowed him to enter, and he did, hugging the Prince Imperial tight when they met—despite the relative lack of privacy in a room that lacked proper walls.

“Have you eaten?” asked the Prince, pointing the table full of local delicacies to his beloved Oberion.

“Yes, I have, Your Highness,” responded Oberion. Alecrias looked at him a little weird.

“What are you doing?” he asked, and then inspected the Knight’s whole body and demeanor. “Have you been told? The sacrifice will be held tomorrow..”

“I have,” replied Oberion, taking off his sword and placing it on the table, before closing the distance between him and the Prince. “That’s why we must prepare. I will be ready to come forward when the Dragon comes close to you, but you must come armed as well, so you can resist the beast,” he completed.

Alecrias looked towards the sword Oberion had brought.

“It’s too big, the Dragon won’t approach me if I have that,” he pointed out. Oberion shook his head, taking the sword once again with his right hand, now removing it from its sheath, and using his left hand to pull the Prince closer to him. If Alecrias did not trust him completely, he might have felt scared.

“There’s more than enough room to hide it,” Oberion said, sliding the sword under the Prince’s shirt, the cold blade touching Alecrias’ warm skin. “Hold it there,” requested Oberion, and Alecrias did it, replacing Oberion’s hand holding the sword against his torso with his own hand.

Oberion then moved, took off Alecrias’ shirt and used a few strings he had on him to tie the sword against the Prince’s torso.

“As long as you don’t move abruptly, this will keep the blade in place until you need to pull it when the Dragon attacks,” said the Knight, tying the strings around the Prince’s body. The sword touched the Prince’s muscles in an awkward, almost dangerous fashion, particularly his pecs and abs. “Don’t worry too much about the edge, this sword was enchanted so it does not cut unless it is held with that intention,” assured Oberion.

Alecrias nodded, but then he pulled the sword to the side, surprising Oberion, and placed it onto the table once more.

“Thank you for that, Oberion, but that’s enough for now,” he said, the strings which had been severed by his movement falling to the floor. “Let’s just enjoy ourselves one last time.”

“Alecrias! We need to improve your chances,” replied the Knight, rather upset by the Prince’s attitude. Alecrias just pulled closer to Oberion and caressed his cheeks.

“Preparedness is important, I agree, but I might die tomorrow. Can’t I enjoy tonight? I don’t want to have any regrets,” said the Prince Imperial, with his sweetest, most convincing voice. Oberion made a vexed face, but nodded.

“As you wish, beloved,” he replied, and then they kissed, their tongues meeting in each other’s mouth, almost making them lose their mind—but Alecrias broke up the kiss when Oberion reached for his pants.

“I have another request, if you’ll indulge me,” said the Prince, and Oberion nodded expectantly. The highest born youth of the land then walked towards a large trunk, opened it, and pulled a small box from inside—it was a beautifully decorated wooden box, certainly an old item. Alecrias opened it, revealing two large golden cuff bracelets inside it, decorated with precious stores in the shape of two eagles.

“What is that?” Oberion asked, suspicious. He had, of course, heard of those bracelets—they seemed like those which had belonged to Alecrim and Eraniel, the first Emperors of the Northern Empire—but he couldn’t really believe that he was seeing them in person, much less on the hands of the Prince Imperial, while they were standing in a tent in a faraway village in the southern hinterlands.

“You know what that is,” replied the Prince, then taking Oberion by the hand, and having him seat on his large luxurious campaign bed, before sitting beside him. “I am Alecrias Campagnard Azemotal, Prince Imperial and heir to the throne of one thousand generations, and I’d like to ask you, Oberion Ergeror Alberota, Marquis of Rotorren, son of the Grand Duke of the Westernlands, for your hand in marriage.”

“You can’t be serious!” replied a completely surprised Oberion, standing up as he took in what he heard. “That is… impossible!”

“Is that a no?” asked the Prince, now looking up towards his beloved.

“No, you idiot, of course it isn’t!” the Knight sighed. “But you know it can’t be. You are the Prince Imperial, it is absolutely impossible for you to take a husband of equal standing, unless you mean for me to…” started Oberion, contemplating the notion of becoming a concubine to Alecrias—a position that’d bring his family great shame, as he was of high birth, but that would, indeed, be possible. Perhaps that would be possible…

“No!” interrupted Alecrias. “I do mean to take you as my husband, there is precedent.” Oberion looked down towards the cuffs.

“Yes, a one-thousand-year-old precedent,” he said. “People will not accept that.”

“They don’t have to, I’ll be dead by this time tomorrow,” responded Alecrias. Oberion then stormed onto him, forcing him to lay down on the bed under his body, their faces really close.

“Don’t say that, do not say that,” said Oberion, staring Alecrias in the eyes. Alecrias nodded slowly.

“Sorry,” he then pushed Oberion away. “But if you can defeat a Dragon, then I don’t know why we should fear the Court; and if you can’t defeat the Dragon, then it doesn’t matter anyway,” said the Prince. Oberion seemed stuck in thoughts while he listened. The Prince then stood up from the bed. “Can’t you just reply me with your feelings, truthfully and clearly? Forget about the world outside, forget about our duties besides those to each other,” he asked.

Oberion stood, and touched Alecrias’ hand, exactly the one that held that small precious box.

“I can. I love you and you know that,” said the larger man. “I want to be with you forever, even if that means crushing through those who stand in our way. I want to marry you, even if it is just for the two of us,” said Oberion, before taking one of the cuffs and placing it around the Prince’s right wrist. Alecrias smiled and did the same to Oberion.

“I told you I am the luckiest man on the land,” said Alecrias, then jumping to hug Oberion and joining with him in a heartfelt kiss. Oberion allowed himself to enjoy the moment, ignoring reality for now.

The two lovers proceeded to remove their clothes, kissing their way back to the bed, increasingly naked. Soon both their proud rods were hard and free, rubbing against each other’s muscles as they continued their warm embrace. As they fell on the bed, Oberion on top of Alecrias, the Prince took his right arm and brought it near the Knight’s right arm.

“I can’t believe this is real, we are married now,” he said, appreciating the symbolic piece of jewelry they were wearing. Oberion then moved to the side of his lover:

“Yes, let us then consummate our marriage,” he said, and then proceeded to start sucking his husband’s spear, coating it in his saliva, tasting it with his tongue. Soon, the Prince was leaking precum from his slit, which Oberion consumed earnestly.

“Great,” said the Prince, moving his hand to caress and hold the Knight’s head as he sucked his penis. He didn’t force the Knight much, but at times he did press him to go further and further down, enveloping the whole masculine meat log with his lips and mouth, all the way to his throat—Oberion enjoyed it, moaning while he sucked the Prince’s long manhood. Soon, however, Oberion got too lustful and wanted to do something else—he let go of the Prince’s cock, which then slapped on the imperial abs with a hard thud. After that, Oberion proceeded to kiss Alecrias and whisped to his ear:

“I need you to fuck me hard today,” said the larger man, before licking and biting the smaller man’s ear. Alecrias smiled and proceeded to push Oberion to the side—Oberion followed that movement, putting his face on the bed and lifting his ass up, his legs spaced wide apart, his hungry whole demanding attention. Kneeling on the bed, Alecrias spanked his lover in the butt thrice, each slap stronger than the last, until both Alecrias’s palm was red and Oberion’s ass cheeks pulsated in pain, their sensitivity heightened.

Alecrias then moved his hand below Oberion’s ass, reaching for his enormous balls and long red cock—the Knight trembled with his touch. Alecrias proceeded to milking him, harshly, and as he did so he also slapped the large nobleman’s ass a couple times, while sometimes also pulling his large cum orbs. Oberion moaned with the attention, his body trembled every time Alecrias did something—he felt like he was getting closer and closer to coming.

Alecrias, noticing the movement in his lover’s balls and also the change in his demeanor—particularly straightening his spine and moving his hips ever so slightly—let go of the immense rod, which then made Oberion screech. Alecrias then proceeded to put his head below his lover, so that his mouth could take the head of Oberion’s cock, before holding and starting to pick up pace with jacking off the Knight’s sword once more.

“Come for me,” said the heir to the throne, between kissing his lover’s slit and finally taking all of the large mushroom-shaped cockhead into his mouth.

Oberion loved the sensations dominating his body: being milked by Alecrias, having the head of his cock in the mouth of his now husband—he loved it so much that he came, bountifully. Alecrias drank most of his juices, but even he couldn’t hope to consume all of Oberion’s production, ejected in several strong shots—when the larger man’s rod left the Prince’s mouth, it ended up coating his imperial head with spurt after spurt of white semen.

After being painted white, Alecrias moved out from under Oberion, whose cock was now softening and dribbling white fluid onto the linen. Alecrias used his hand to try to clean his face at least a little, and then licked his lover’s fluids form his fingers. Oberion’s ass, however, still pointed towards the moon—his hole widened by his spread-out legs, seeming to Alecrias like the midday sun itself.

“Ask for it again,” said the heir to the throne, before slapping his lover in the ass another time, making the blissful Knight shake with expectation.

“Fuck me!” he requested, moving his ass up and down in a twisted type of bow. Alecrias smiled, and started groping and stroking his lover’s ass cheeks, before using his wet fingers to venture inside the Knight’s ass.

“The hottest ass in the Empire, maybe in the world,” he praised, as his fingers ventured further into Oberion, who moaned delightfully. The tall muscular Knight, maybe the mightiest in his generation, pushed his ass hungrily backwards, as if demanding to be filled to capacity.

Alecrias understood his lover’s body language, and then removed his fingers from inside Oberion, kneeling behind him and positioning his own 51cm-long spear near his lover’s gate of delight. He pushed in, and his dick was readily accepted, until Oberion’s emptiness was replaced by an avid need to pound—the Knight then used his large legs to hammer his ass against the Prince’s cock, the Prince using his whole body to add to the precise fluid motion.

With his hands being relatively free, Alecrias basically started feeling Oberion’s back muscles as they fucked, his wondering hands eventually travelling to his Knight’s meaty pecs, which forced the Prince to lower his torso closer and closer to his lover’s, even as they continued to fuck. As Alecrias’s spear penetrated and then abandoned Oberion’s asshole successively, their balls also haphazardly hit each other’s legs, ass, and, most satisfyingly, the other’s stones.

Eventually, Alecrias came inside Oberion, falling in exhaustion on top of his lover’s perfect body. Oberion, at this point in time, was hard once more—but Alecrias’s cock was quickly softening inside him after having shot his seed. As such, Oberion left Alecrias laying on his broad back and enjoying his sexual bliss, while also readjusting his own body—the Knight moved his head lower and lower, and the arms which held his upper body away from the bed were also moved so he could use his hands to position his cock parallel to his torso, pointing towards his mouth.

Oberion was a large man, but also an extremely fit and flexible specimen: his large 64 centimeters hardened cock, when positioned parallel to his torso as it now was, almost reached towards the underside of his meaty pectorals. It was not extremely easy, but the accomplished Knight could, therefore, by bending his neck and lowering his head—even while on all fours and with his elbows and knees on the bed—suck himself. While still supporting much of the weight of his blissful lover, the Knight did exactly that, even moving his hips back and forth so as to increase the exquisite sensations derived from fucking his own mouth.

All that movement, of course, made Alecrias act—he pulled out of Oberion’s but, and then simply moved to the side to watch his lover turn into a self-sucking Ouroboros. Even as Oberion still sucked himself and face fucked himself, as his balls dangled and danced between his broadly parted legs, Alecrias just watched.

“The Dragon is not the only mystical creature near us,” he thought to himself, smiling at the show he witnessed.

When Oberion neared orgasm—panting through his lips around his own wide cock—Alecrias moved in and grabbed his lover’s balls, pulling them down excruciatingly. Oberion felt the pleasurable attack and pushed his cock further inside his mouth than ever, and then rolled his eyes in pleasure as he came profusely inside his throat.

Once the Knight had come, his husband let go of his nuts, and used his hands to pull his head up while moving his own face near Oberion’s. Once their heads were close together, the Prince kissed his lover’s still cum-filled mouth, exchanging in a kiss two types of bodily juices. Once that kiss was separated, the two hugged close together while still laying on the bed, and Oberion decided that for once he wouldn’t return to his tent tonight.

After a few seconds of exchange of mutual and happy caresses and affections by the two young noblemen, it was Oberion’s turn to break the silence. He raised his right arm, and as his big and extremely significant bracelet shone against the light of the candles, he sighed.

“Does your father know about us?” Oberion asked the Prince Imperial.

“I think he knows about me, and about you. But he knows not of our marriage,” said Alecrias.

“Should we keep it a secret?” asked Oberion, and Alecrias shook his head. He raised his right arm and with his left arm he removed his own bracelet. He then took Oberion’s left arm, and put the bracelet around his wrist.

“No. You should tell him tomorrow, after the ritual. Until then, you keep mine safe for me,” said the Prince. Oberion nodded and acquiesced, but he was taken by a feeling of sadness and anger, and by certain dark thoughts that he quickly dismissed. He wanted to tell the Emperor that he’d rather see the Empire fall than seeing Alecrias die—but he couldn’t be so selfish, especially when Alecrias was willing to sacrifice himself for the people. Regardless, Oberion wouldn’t give up. He’d slay that Dragon and save his beloved, or go to the ends of the world trying.

The four Imperial Guards who were guarding the Prince’s tent allowed the Grand Duke’s son to enter immediately, both because they knew him and because over the past days they had become acutely aware of his relationship with the Prince Imperial, as the walls of a palace are much better a sound barrier than those of a campaign tent—even that belonging to a nobleman. In the beginning, they gossiped amongst themselves about their newfound knowledge: which one took the active and passive roles? Was the heir to the throne submitting himself to a vassal, or was the muscular knight who won dozens of battles letting himself be pierced by the Prince’s proud member? Over the nights, the guards got the answer to their questions—both and neither.

Although the Northern Empire was significantly more liberal than the Southern Kingdom when it came to homosexual relationships, it is not to say that they were ascribed no stigma whatsoever. Usually, a relationship of this nature would be between unequals—a nobleman and a serf or slave, a teacher and a student, or an officer and a foot soldier, for example. There were exceptions, such as Emperors Alecrim and Eraniel—the founders of the Empire–, but they were exactly that—exceptions, oddities, particularly amongst the nobility.

Nonetheless, the guards couldn’t help but feel an understanding for the situation of the Prince and the Knight. One was the handsomest man in the Empire—even straight men like themselves could see it. He was also taller and more muscular than even the most privileged elite soldier, only not attracting all praise in that field because he was always compared to Lord Oberion, who never seemed to leave his side. Besides that, the Prince Imperial excelled in intellect, arts, kindness and diplomacy, as well as the battlefield, and all who knew him believed he’d become the best emperor in generations once he had the chance to rule.

The other, beyond possessing amazing height and strength—being taller even than Acrosiel the Great, who had measured 203cms, and stronger than Uront the Brave, who had weighted 133kg of pure muscle—was the leading knight in the whole Empire. Despite his young age, troubadours already sang his feats from the wetlands of the west to the deserts of the east, and there was not a single boy in the whole Northern Empire who didn’t look up to him. His body, it was known, was big all over, but his face was also very appealing to both the male and female eyes. According to all who knew him, he was the perfect specimen in body and personality, and was the perfect heir to the Western Grand Duchy.

In other words, the Prince and the Knight deserved each other, and the guards could tell they certainly satisfied each other. In a way, it was only natural. Two true forces of nature, equal only amongst themselves, in love—who, once having seen and heard them, could deny it?

Two of the guards remained at the door of the tent while the Prince and the Knight talked inside, and the other two went for a patrol around the perimeter of the tent—the ones who left were Ocimez, who went to patrol in a clockwise direction, and Gordagan, who walked in the opposite, anticlockwise direction. Soon, however, the four guards could hear the two young noblemen fucking inside, which got their own dicks to stiffen under their full military gear.

When he was sufficiently far from the tent’s entrance, Ocimez removed his pants and the lower part of his armor, and let his cock out in the open. He could do that with impunity not only because it was already dark outside, but also because in trying not to arise much attention their small expedition had taken relatively few men, and so the area around the tents tended to be relatively deserted at this high hour. Nonetheless, Ocimez still hid behind the large trunk of a tree, in between some bushes, so as to take no chances.

There, he held his cock in his hand—yes, it was not as large as that of some of his colleagues, but it had a nice upward bent, and it reached above 30cm, which was a very good size outside of the nobility and elite troops. As someone from humble origins, he felt very lucky to have a body that, alongside his talents with weaponry, had allowed him to enter the Imperial Guard. This opportunity allowed him to help his family back home, as well as manage to pay for his brother’s education as a mage, which he was superbly proud of. Besides that, he had to admit, he was also proud of his own muscles—those a product of his hard labor as much as his generous genetics.

Listening to the Prince’s and Lord Oberion’s lovemaking was getting Ocimez horny as well. He remembered his Ansofasto, the kitchen helper he was enamored with, whom he hadn’t seen in more than two weeks because of his official duties. Was he also thinking of him? Gods, he hoped so. He smelled of bread and cake, as he spent the whole day in the kitchen—being with him was a delight in every sense, both when screwing and when conversing, as they had so much in common, including their family origins in the countryside.

Thinking of his Ansofasto, Ocimez started masturbating. He bit his lips so he could contain all his noise, but he beat his meat without any reservation, imagining his man. He went harsher on his rod when he imagined Ansofasto there, needy, sucking him; then he was kinder on his rod, imagining Ansofasto’s hands instead of his own. He was a cook, so he had strong hands, but much ability with them. Ocimez had to swallow a moan, picturing Ansofasto’s large arms, shaped by having to pound doughs and mix ingredients. He could almost smell him as he stroked himself—cinnamon, warm bread, fruits and sweat, when they were together.

And then Ocimez’s heart almost jumped out of his body when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” asked a familiar voice—it was Gorgadan, his question floating in the air as his eyes captured the full scope of the scene in front of him. “Leaving the post to satisfy yourself? That’s a breach of the code!”

“I’m sorry,” said a mortified Ocimez, picking up his clothes and dressing up despite his large hard and already wet cock. At this very moment a scream of pleasure could be heard from inside the tent.

“They don’t make it any easier for us, though, do they?” said Gorgadan, taking his hand off of Ocimez’s shoulder. “Just this once won’t hurt, so we can concentrate better,” he said, mysteriously, and Ocimez nodded fervently, letting his cock fly out again.

“Does it get to you as well… their fucking?” asked Ocimez, carefully. Gorgadan smiled in the dark, his smile was pretty like his face, which matched well his slender but agile body.

“I think it gets to all of us, some more than others,” he responded, looking down at his colleague’s hardness. Gorgadan then lowered his armor and released his own penis, a 31cm long beauty, it’s color similar to that of the breads Ansofasto baked. “I think we are similar,” Gorgadan pointed out, referring to the size of their male members and also, perhaps, something else. Ocimez didn’t respond, and Gorgadan took this opportunity to close the distance between them, and hold both their dicks together in one embrace—foreskin against foreskin, shaft against shaft.

“See?” said Gorgadan, who was also the about the same height as Ocimez, although a little bit less bulky. Ocimez nodded, in agreement, feeling the interesting contrast of having his dick exposed to the cold air while also touching his comrade’s warm skin. He couldn’t help but think that Gorgadan felt more comfortable in this situation than him, as in many others—perhaps because he came from a long line of elite soldiers.

“What are you thinking?” asked Gorgadan, and Ocimez didn’t really know what to say.

“Just that you make it seem so natural,” replied Ocimez. Gorgadan frowned.

“Masturbating? It is natural,” he spurted, and Ocimez shook his head.

“No, the Imperial Guard,” he explained, and Gorgadan smiled whimsically.

“Well, it’s second nature for me. I’m the seventh generation, after all,” he said, and then both his hands tightened their grip around their cocks, trying to change the object of Ocimez’s attention. “But I think we should have this debate at another point in time. Coming fast is of the essence now.”

Ocimez nodded, aware that they were, after all, skipping their responsibilities. Before he could do anything, however, Gorgadan was rubbing and stroking both their dicks together with his two hands. Instinctively, the shorter man started rubbing his dick against Gorgadan’s, up and down, as the other man’s hands moved. The feeling was delicious—both cocks were releasing a lot of precum, as the young men hadn’t been satisfying their needs recently. Gorgadan’s cock, particularly, released the clear sinful liquid in copious amounts, making the wet stroking and rubbing motions even more delightful, and also causing their movements to generate some characteristic squirting and sloshing sounds.

Gorgadan’s stroking picked up pace, and he tried to contain his grunt as his hands held his and Ocimez’s cocks together even as both of the young soldiers now thrusted their members upwards and then downwards. Their balls followed the motions of their bodies, back and forth, and were consequently often hitting each other—to the delight of both men. The slapping sounds their balls made when meeting either their muscular legs or their comrade’s nuts might have caused others to suspect their actions, hadn’t it been for the much louder sounds coming from inside the Prince Imperial’s tent.

Soon, Gorgadan came, his first shot going so far up as to hit the lower branches of the large tree surrounding them. When his penis started shooting, Gorgadan released his mate’s cock and used his hand to point his member towards the bushes where the following shots landed, covering the foliage profusely in a warm lively white. Ocimez enjoyed the sight of his comrade-in-arms trembling in extasy as his orgasm took over his whole body, but Gorgadan releasing his own cock from his grip had turned Ocimez’s cock orphan of the taller man’s touch.

Ocimez, therefore, moved to correct it by constricting his erection between his own hands, and stroking it with all the harshness of a soldier handling a weapon. Once he had come, Gorgadan watched the sight of Ocimez torturing his own cock, and thus decided to take to his knees, hold Ocimez’s cock once more, and plunge with his mouth upon it. He sucked the cock as if his life depended on it, concentrating his attentions mostly around the head. Shocked, Ocimez moved his hand from his shaft, and it was immediately replaced by that of Gorgadan’s.

Sucking, licking, and stroking Ocimez’s cock, Gorgadan gave his mate no respite until he came—his balls pumping hot semen forward, into Gorgadan’s mouth. The taller man, who had tasted Ocimez’s cock, was now tasting and drinking his semen, gladly so. When the shots became a dribble, he made sure to stroke the long softening cock once more—milking it of all possible droplets of the manly fluid. After suckling and licking the slit of Ocimez’s cock in order to truly clean it, Gorgadan stood up and started dressing up again—receiving from Ocimez a completely surprised look.

“Was it not nice?” Gorgadan asked, almost dressed perfectly for battle once more.

“No, it was great. I just didn’t know you enjoyed… that,” Ocimez replied, now also awkwardly picking up his armor and putting it back up.

“I enjoy many things,” said Gorgadan, mysteriously, now walking past Ocimez back into the bushes and towards the Prince’s tent. “I’d enjoy doing this again, for example; but don’t worry, I won’t try to get between you and your baker,” he completed, before leaving Ocimez alone, blushing.

After less than a second of shock due to his comrade’s remark, Ocimez recovered his self-control and finished dressing up, immediately then going back to the tent to complete his round and return to his position. All he had in mind, however—especially as he heard the delightful sounds coming from inside the tent—was when he’d be able to pleasure himself again, and when—hopefully soon—he’d see his handsome Ansofasto once more.

A young, handsome lad, walked furiously through the hallways of the Imperial Palace. He looked similar to Alecrias, his older brother, except he was slimer, just a little bit shorter, and his hair was curlier and brighter. He was absolutely fuming in anger as he pushed the doors of the office of the Secretary of Internal Affairs open, and forced his way in as the Secretary was having a meeting. His arrival silence all present inside the richly decorated office.

“Your Highness?” asked the powerful older man, in his late 40s, standing up from behind his desk. His subordinates around the room also stood up and bowed ever so slightly to the second prince.

“Uncle, we need to talk. In private,” said the 21-year-old, his voice so absolutely serious that it didn’t seem to match well with his still youthful looks. His uncle, the powerful Grand Prince and Secretary of Internal Affairs looked sternly towards him, but conceded.

“Fine,” he said, and then turned to his subordinates. “Please leave us for now, I must talk to my nephew.” They did, and the large wooden door closed behind them as they left the room—the two men now alone in the large office, the only other human figures inside being the statues and portraits on the walls.

“Uncle, my Father and my Brother have been out for a whole week now, and I was just informed that the bracelets of Alecrim and Eraniel have gone missing,” he said, looking serious and also slightly nervous. “I know that there is something wrong, you must tell me what it is.”

His uncle looked the young prince from head to toe: his muscles were tense, as was his face. He had been asked that question now five days in a roll, but the reason for which the Emperor and Imperial Prince had left was a secret, and he had until now decided not to reveal those secrets to his nephew—even because he’d definitely act too harshly if he had known.

“There is nothing I must do, Alassares,” said the older man, pointing his nephew towards a chair. The second prince stubbornly refused to sit, or even look at it, in fact.

“I know there is something going on, as they took a few dozen members of the Imperial Guard and departed in secret. I also know it has nothing to do with a stately tour to the southern barons or any of the other lies you have spread in the Court, as I have talked to their sons and none of their parents has hosted my Father yet,” said the energetic Prince, walking around from one side to the other. He then looked expectantly towards the older man: “Uncle, whatever it is, I know it has to do with my Brother. The Books of Silene were consulted, and I have heard from one of the Vestals that the prophecy has to do with him. Whatever it is, if you tell me what is going on I could assemble a group of mages and soldiers and assist them!” The older man sighed.

“You have an amazing information network, Alassares. One day you might be sitting in my chair,” said the Secretary, actually rather impressed, although also slightly annoyed. The second prince’s look, however, still held onto him, expecting some sort of answer. The powerful older man sighed and gave him some of what he demanded: “Look, Alassares, it is nothing you could solve with an army. Your duty is to the Empire, as is your brother’s. Right now that entails that you stay in the capital and fulfill the official activities, and stop asking about the whereabouts of your brother, much less investigate about it behind my back.”

Alassares’s eyes moved around—they went towards the large tapestry which represented the totality of the Empire hanging in the back wall, and from there to the several book shelves filled with scholarly documents, the paintings from overseas, the fancy furniture. The bust of the former Emperor, his grandfather. His eyes, both angry and hurt, travelled throughout the room until they rested again on his Uncle.

“You expect me not to care about my Brother? He is the Imperial Prince and I am the second prince; my duty is towards him, and his is towards the people. You, better than anyone, should know this, Uncle,” he shot with a poisonous tone. His Uncle nodded, which made Alassares a little confused.

“You will have to get used to this new reality,” the older man said, slowly and carefully. Initially, Alassares frowned as he heard this sentence being pronounced, but when it ended without changing in implication his eyes widened in surprise and horror.

“Uncle, you don’t mean that… of course you couldn’t,” he said, walking towards the older man, who faced him without looking away. As his Uncle held his gaze, Alassares became more desperate. “Tell me where my Brother went! I ask no more, Uncle!” he pleaded, absolutely decided.

The Secretary then slowly walked towards the wall of his office where a beautifully woven tapestry showing the lands of the Empire hanged. Alassares followed his movement with his eyes, and then his attention followed his Uncle’s hand as it rose and pointed towards a small village close to the mountains in the south—near the border.

“This is the place you want to go, but you must go there by yourself,” he simply said. “That is all I can say without breaching my Emperor’s orders,” he completed. Alassares nodded, trying to scramble his courage and his reason to set up a plan, and then glared towards the map, memorizing it. When he felt confident enough, he thanked his Uncle and unsheathed his sword, placing it perfectly vertically on the wooden floor. The beautiful weapon slowly morphed: it grew in size, changed in color, becoming more human-like, until it was exactly like a human—a naked, handsome and young male human.

As his sword kneeled before him, the second prince removed his jewelry and the sheath from his sword and placed them on top of one of the chairs.

“Elgaro,” said Alassares, calling the attention of his sword. “I am to leave for some time. Take my clothes and return to the Academy. Do not wait for me, and feed on Oblodun during my absence,” he completed. The sword bowed to him, in its human form.

“Yes, commander,” it responded. It then stood up and took the clothes Alassares had undressed. As it stood, one could see its completely smooth, cockless crotch.

“No need for that, just go, if you want to have any chance to get there in time. I’ll arrange something for your sword to wear,” the older man said. The younger man nodded, and immediately went towards the window. He opened the tall glass window completely, letting the outside air and light enter the room. It was a beautiful morning outside. Alassares then climbed up the stool and jumped off it, falling several meters towards the ground before transforming into an eagle mid air and flying away, as his luxurious clothes fell to the ground.

“I wish him all luck, this ordeal is most unfortunate,” said the Uncle, left behind. He then moved to collect his nephew’s jewels from the chair, before calling his subordinates back in to continue their meeting and ordering some clothes to be brought for Elgaro, who meanwhile stood there, completely naked, in front of the secretaries and subordinates of the Grand Prince.


Alassares flew for almost a day without respite before arriving in the small village at night. He then chose to fly around the rural community, looking for some clue of where his brother could be—there he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Flying a bit to the south, however, he managed to notice a military encampment in the distance, illuminated by several torches which he could only discern thanks to his powerful bird vision. He flew there and once he identified the unusually large tents characteristic of the Imperial Guard—he was certain that this was what he was looking for: an encampment hosting his Brother and Father.

The young man in the body of a bird then landed on the ground where he transformed back to his usual human body, except he was now completely naked. He then walked towards the perimeter of the encampment, his low hanging cock slapping his thighs as he walked through the fields—which did make him slowly get a semi, even in the cold air of an autumn night. As he approached the camp some guards finally noticed his presence.

“This area is restricted. Go away or identify yourself,” said the biggest of the soldiers guarding that part of the perimeter around the encampment. He saw Alassares moving in the shadow towards them, but he couldn’t yet discern much of his figure.

“Do you not know who you are talking to?” Alassares asked from afar, almost yelling, still completely naked. One of the guards then drew his sword and pointed it towards the incoming figure, yelling:

“He is armed!” he alerted, while looking at the shadow of the prince’s hard cock, pointing upwards like a broad sword from his crotch. Alassares chuckled at that, moving his hips so his so-called weapon would move from one side to the other, revealing its true nature even under the cover of darkness. Swaying his stiff cock this way made the second prince get even harder.

“This area is restricted, please identify yourself,” repeated the larger man, becoming aware that the visitor was naked—and unarmed. His arms made a sign to the other guards that told them to hold their positions for now. Seeing that movement, Alassares raised his arm and opened his hand. Using his powers, he made the sword fly from the hand of the young guard who had drawn his weapon to his own grasp. The guards were both confused and surprised by that, and immediately identified that something was wrong. Seeing that, the larger of them immediately took a whistle and sounded the alarm. Alassares sighed, tired, and threw the sword he now had in his hands to the ground.

“There’s no need to be this scandalous. I just came to see my Brother and my Father,” he said, as he walked closer and closer to the guards, who at this point took a few steps backwards and all drew their swords, pointing them towards the naked figure coming towards them—that is, until the young Prince’s face was so close to their perimeter as to be illuminated by the torches, revealing once and for all his likeness to the Emperor and the Prince Imperial. “It is I, Prince Alassares. I came to see my Father and Brother. Take me to them,” he announced, his proud cock also bouncing as he spoke, attracting the eyes of some of the guards. A droplet of precum formed in the tip of his noble rod as he talked.

Alassares then followed the guards’ gaze and looked down towards his bouncy hardon.

“But first get me something to wear,” he ordered, and suddenly half the camp was all running around trying to find clothes that would fit him.


Alassares was given something to wear—the simple clothes of a guardsman, but at least they were comfortable, although a bit tight around the crotch—and was then immediately brought to his father’s tent where the Emperor was still having a meeting with the two Mages he had brought to organize the ritual. The sovereign was initially surprised by the arrival of his second son, but soon accepted it as a matter that could not be avoided—even thinking to himself that it was surprising that the stubborn lad hadn’t come to them earlier.

Alassares refused the food and small talk offered to him, questioning his father immediately about the nature of their presence in the south—he had suspicions, as he had been talking to people around the Castle, including some mages he knew who had large mouths and a weakness against alcohol. Even in his worst nightmares, however, he had not imagined what his father was now telling him: his Brother, his very own older brother, would be sacrificed to the Dragon in order to prevent the fall of the Empire and to give them an upper hand in a future invasion of the Southern Kingdom.

“Father, you cannot be serious,” said the younger prince, walking towards the older man who sat in the golden chair. “You cannot be planning a human sacrifice, a sacrifice of Alecrias, for the benefit of this Dragonesque creature. We can bring the Mages, the Army, there are so many options!” he protested. His father raised his hand.

“Unfortunately, there aren’t. We have tried all of that unsuccessfully, and by wasting more resources on it we become weaker against an invasion by the South. You saw yourself what happened in the capital—many have died and yet the city burned in flames. Even your Brother, didn’t witness it as he was away in the Westernlands, recognizes that it can’t continue. This is our only alternative,” responded the sovereign.

“This is ridiculous, just because of what is written in the Books of Silene? Those prophecies are not that straightforward to interpret!” the prince responded, and then Mage Darulin, the younger of the two that the sovereign had brought to this mission, raised his voice.

“There is more to it than that, Your Highness,” he pointed out, attracting the attention and fury of the younger nobleman. “My teacher, Master Carmin, created a curse many years ago that bound the Prince Imperial to the fight against the Southern Kingdom, and the Southern Kingdom created this Dragon to try and overtake the Empire. This is how we know the Prince Imperial is tied to the Dragon, and that this interpretation of the Books of Silene is correct.”

Alassares looked towards the Mage, his superior in the magical arts, with a cold stern stare. If his stare were personified in an action, it would have been a brutal slap—no, it was not natural of Alassares to want to slap peasants, much less a Mage, but he was not feeling normal right then. And that’s why the second prince proceeded to walk towards Darulin with his chin held high, condescendingly. Bitter.

“What is the use of a Mage if he cannot save the heir to the throne? What is the use of these prophecies and curses, if even the Prince Imperial has to die? What use is knowing the future if we have to bow to it, regardless?” he spewed, and then raised his own hands pointing his palm towards Darulin. “You are as powerless as I am, Master. A waste of time and resources! I don’t know why my Father doesn’t cut your tongue for suggesting that my Brother should die for your curse,” he completed.

“Alassares!” the Emperor raises his voice, silencing his son. “You ask the Masters what is the worth of a Mage if they cannot save a Prince, but I ask you what is the worth of a Prince if he won’t save the Empire.”

Alassares eyes widened and his eyebrows rose as he heard those words, in shock and horror. He immediately turned and prostrated in front of his father’s throne, lowering his head until he groveled, so low as to touch the Emeperor’s feet with his forehead.

“Father, please, don’t do this. Let this be, let my Brother live, and I will find another way to deal with the Dragon, Father. I will talk to the Vestals again, I will go to the Oracle of Aloppos, Father, be merciful,” he begged, the Emperor looking down on his son’s bent back.

Silence dominated the space for a moment, only the sound of the fire burning wood being heard—sharp creeks as the wood turned into ashes.

“The young apprentice is right,” suddenly said the older, white-haired mage, Aldaralan. “Let this be a lesson to him: just because one controls magic, it does not mean one controls fate.”

Alassares continued looking down, burning in rage and terror. He repeated silently. “Please Father, please,” while scrubbing his hands together and with his face on the floor bellow the Emperor’s feet. The sovereign then made a movement with his hands, causing Darulin to stand up and pull the prince back up, forcing him to stand against the lad’s wishes.

“Son, do you think this satisfies me? Or that I do it without having consulted your Brother’s wishes?” he asks, seeing now that Alassares’s eyes were red and teary. The younger man shakes his heads.

“He’d never be selfish enough to ask you to stop, so I do it for him. Father, please be merciful,” he asked once more, and then twice. The Emperor then stood up and went to his son, whom he hugged.

“I am sorry, Alassares, but this is the lesson I have for you. I have always asked of you to be a loyal brother to Alecrias and a loyal son to me, which you have always been, but now I must ask you to be a loyal prince to the Empire. It is the role of the heir to the throne,” said the Emperor, to his son’s ear. The younger man sobbed and pushed his father away, falling to his knees, and then again with his head on the floor—this time more to isolate himself than in hopeful prostration. He cried, and his father sighed, as he walked away.

As Alassares cried, however, his palms slowly closed in a fist, which he used to hit the ground as he cursed the land itself, his heart engulfed in rage.

“I am sorry, son. Cry all you need now, and then go meet see your brother. You are lucky to have this time with him,” said the Emperor, leaving his son on the floor while he went back to his throne.

Alassares quickly recovered himself, stood up and, with eyes as red from tears as from anger, left the Imperial tent without even asking for dismissal. He walked straight towards the guards, asking them to guide him to his brother’s quarters. The three older men left behind were in silence for a little while, before restarting the conversation about the preparations for the event of the following day.

“It is a shame that it must be thusly, but you’ll rise to the occasion, son,” thought the Emperor, while he distractedly saw Alassares leave the tent with heavy and angry steps.

“There is absolutely no way it will happen, I don’t care whether the sky itself will fall and the Aloron river will burn in fire, but Alecrias will not die tomorrow,” thought the young Prince, his heart burning with the fire of hell, his mind wondering between all possible plots he could create to mend the situation. All his spirit, all his mind, focused on this one sole goal.


Alassares walked into his brother’s tent unannounced, against the better judgment of the guards, because his mind and heart were completely filled with thoughts and hurry. Inside, he was surprised to find his brother and Oberion completely naked and lying on the large bed, hugging each other.

“Alassares!” exclaimed a surprised Alecrias, immediately standing up from the bed and going towards his younger sibling.

“What are you doing here?” asked Oberion, also surprised, looking towards the younger man with a certain suspicion, before smiling kindly. He was also completely naked, and Alassares’s eyes couldn’t help but lay on the large, muscular man—especially his long and thick soft cock resting on top of his right leg, its head almost fully visible, which meant that the foreskin was unnaturally pulled back.

“Brother,” responded Alassares, receiving Alecrias’s hug and reciprocating it. “I can’t believe you are doing this. We must call this off, if we both talk to Father I am sure we can convince him to change his mind.”

“You will not convince him to ask,” alerted Oberion, standing up from the bed, his floppy dick falling from his leg and now pointing towards the floor, bouncing from one side to the other more than half way down his long and muscular thighs as he walked towards the center of the room and then to Alassares. The younger man had to control his desires to be able to look away from the sexy Knight, and instead pulled away from his Brother’s hug and looked the Prince Imperial sternly to the face.

“I hope this means you have a plan, Brother,” said Alassares. Alecrias, who was a little taller than him—but not much—looked to the side, avoiding his eye, but also appreciating the view of his sexy boyfriend walking.

“We do,” said Oberion, now hugging Alassares with real afection. “It is good to have you here, Alassares, you can help us,” he completed. Alassares swallowed his saliva during the hug, as those hard muscles and soft cock touching him made him a bit horny—especially Oberion’s hard arm muscles against his torso, which caused a jolt of electricity to run through the younger lad’s spine. Nonetheless, he had enough self-composure to be able to nod, even if his hard sword was throbbing a little under those borrowed clothes.

“Of course,” said the second prince, before looking down, towards the Knight’s manhood again, this time noticing, at a similar height, that he was wearing cuffs arounds his wrists: the bracelets of Alecrim and Eraniel, easily identifiable by the eagle motif. “Oh, so those were here,” he commented, pointing towards the bracelets around Oberion’s wrists, causing the larger man to lift his arms, almost as if showing them off.

“Yes, yes they were,” he responded, cryptically, and looked towards his lover. Alecrias bit his lips, demonstrating a certain nervousness with the subject. “But we can discuss this issue later on. Right now, there is a more pressing question,” completed Oberion, to the relief of the Prince Imperial. Alassares nodded.

“Of course… what exactly is the plan for tomorrow?” asked the younger prince, causing Oberion to take the sword they had kept on the table.

“Alecrias will take this, hide it under his clothes, and when the Dragon comes he will defend himself with it. As soon as he attacks, I will also join the fight and together we will slay the beast,” explained the larger man. The younger prince then looked towards his Brother and the Knight successively, a bit confused. He received no further reaction or information on the subject before he could react.

“Brother, Oberion, that’s not a plan,” said the lad, then looking towards Oberion. “I know you are the strongest Knight in the land, but we are talking about a Dragon, one conjured by a curse, apparently. You’ll need time to get to it, and my Brother will need to resist to its attacks alone at least in the beginning. It is not so simple.” He then turned towards the Prince Imperial. “Brother, I do trust your skills, but not alone, not against a beast like a Dragon.”

Silence dominated the room for a moment.

“Unfortunately, raw force and luck is all we can count on at this moment,” said Alecrias, looking upwards, as if searching for the sky, but finding only the ceiling of the tent.

“Of course, not,” chastised the younger lad. “And that’s why you should have brought me from the beginning. You need a Mage. I think I can help hold the Dragon in the crucial moment, but we’ll also need to increase your speed, Oberion; and your strength, Brother. I think I can make potions for that, although it won’t be without cost,” Alassares conjectured, thinking. Oberion frowned.

“That would be great, but not easy. To make something powerful you’ll need a sacrifice and even then we are short on time,” he noted, and Alassares nodded.

“Yes, but no sacrifice would be superior to that of my Brother. I think that with our blood I can do it,” he proposed. The two older men looked at each other.

“Isn’t that prohibited? It borders human sacrifice,” said a concerned Alecrias.

“And it is very advanced,” said Oberion.

“You must be joking!” yelled Alassares to his Brother, moving towards him while agitating his arms. “We are talking about preventing actual human sacrifice and you come up with technicalities. Your sacrifice, above all!” He was going to continue when he was interrupted by Oberion, who placed himself between the brothers, his pecs serving as a great way to separate the two.

“It’s fine. I know this is a difficult time, but let’s be useful, try not to lose our minds,” said Oberion, then cleaning his throat before completing: “I do agree with you on this topic, Alassares—the question is, do you think you can do it?” he asked. Alassares breathed in and nodded.

“I just need blood, but I have plenty of that myself. It should be effective enough. I’ll also need some materials and ingredients but they shouldn’t be hard to find in a military encampment like this,” he said, already looking around for some basic elements like gold, fire etc.

“Use my blood,” suggested Alecrias, his brother staring at him.

“Mine too, it’s better if we all do it as that’s going to be less risky to each one of us individually, besides those sorts of potions work better if they use the blood from the person who will benefit from them,” suggested Oberion, and Alassares agreed, which led him to go gather the materials around. He called for the guards and ordered them to bring him some utensils and ingredients from the kitchen, and went himself to pick some of the other necessary materials by assaulting the tent of the Masters while they were still talking to the Emperor.

After they had collected everything, the three lads cut themselves so they could bleed into three pots. Alassares then immediately cured their cuts, and started making the potions. One of the pots, containing the Prince Imperial’s blood, he mixed with roots and stones, and gave the contents to Alecrias so he could drink in the morning and increase his strength; the second pot, containing the Knight’s blood, Alassares mixed with herbs and two feathers, and gave to Oberion, so he would gain in speed. The third pot, which contained his own blood, he mixed with gold and meat, to increase his resistance. Those were powerful potions, but not the ideal one Alassares had in mind and decided to make later on, in secret.

The rest of the time was spent by the three of them around the table, eating, drinking and discussing the specific strategy to use during the following day. Every so often, however, the conversation became more nostalgic and the young men recalled events of the past, which Alassares found depressing enough that he almost cried a few times. Disturbingly to him, neither his brother nor Oberion thought it was necessary to dress up while in his presence tonight, and they acted even more intimate than they used to—they even kissed each other in front of him. Alassares felt a little bothered, both by their intimacy, and by the constant sight of Oberion’s sexy body—he even peeked at his hardon under the table while they were talking, which was like discovering a magical secret he had wondered about for years. Alassares was not surprised that it was large—of course not, Oberion was famous for his size—but he was surprised by how hard it got, especially when his brother’s leg rubbed against Oberion’s.

Despite Alecrias’s and Oberion’s indiscretion, Alassares was very glad that he himself was dressed as that meant that he could ogle Oberion’s naked muscles and still more or less hide his hardon and horniness, respecting his Brother’s obvious relationship with the son of the Grand Duke. Still, all throughout the night, Alassares had a bittersweet feeling when talking to his older brother. Eventually, not soon before he left, Oberion asked him:

“So, Alassares where are you planning on sleeping tonight?” and the younger prince shrugged.

“I don’t know, but they can probably give me one of the soldiers’ tents.” Oberion looked at Alecrias and smiled.

“Well, if you want to you can sleep in my tent, I’m going to sleep here tonight,” he said, and Alassares, quite surprised by this newfound openness, looked at his Brother, who was smiling back to Oberion. The second prince was also aware that the two were rubbing their legs against each other under the table.

“Is there something else I might need to know?” asked a suspicious Alassares, remembering the bracelets and how his Brother was looking at Oberion completely inconspicuously. Of course, he was not an ignorant—much on the contrary—and he knew both his Brother’s preferences and that he and the Knight had been together for quite a while, informally. But now he felt that there was something suggesting to him that maybe there might be more to it than the usual—maybe the unthinkable had happened, something his Brother had suggested or allured to a few times before, when he felt safe with him and the two were alone, usually just to dismiss the idea as a joke after Alassares questioned him further about it. But under the current circumstances, unlike when those suggestions were raised previously, Alassares’s feelings were mixed.

“Actually, there is something you should know, Alassares,” said Alecrias, moving his smile towards his younger Brother. “I asked Oberion to marry me and he accepted my proposition, we are now married under the Gods.”

Alassares heard the news and stood still for a second, trying to process the information fully and cross it with his previous observations, while under the watchful eye of his Brother and his Brother’s new husband. He felt like this was a surprise, sure, but one he’d have more or less known how to react to under other circumstances—to be honest, he kind of expected something like this when he heard that the cuffs had gone missing. But seeing both the bracelets on Oberion’s wrists had been, well, shocking. In a married couple one partner is supposed to wear each cuff, the man in the right arm and the woman in the left arm—only one member of a couple wearing both the cuffs was simply not done, and the fact that Oberion was doing it brought other thoughts to Alassares’s head, thoughts he didn’t know how to express calmly. And so he avoided those thoughts at first, preferring another line of inquisition.

“Does Father know?” the young prince asked. His older brother shook his head.

“Tomorrow he will know,” Alecrias informed. Alassares contorted his mouth, displeased at the way the sentence was constructed.

“Why is Oberion wearing both the bracelets of marriage, then? Why aren’t you wearing one of them, Brother?” he asked, with an almost accusatory tone, slightly aggressive, even. Oberion looked from one brother to the other—he didn’t want to get in between the two again, but he was ready to dissuade any further escalation of tension, depending on where it went. The problem is, he had also thought about that and although he had tried to push this question from his mind, he was still curious about Alecrias’s reply—even as his heart feared what it would be.

“It is a secret for now,” Alecrias responded, calmy. His Brother rose up from his seat around the table, far less controlled.

“A secret from our Father or a secret from us? Given that he is not here I can only assume the latter,” he asked, and then fumed, and then breathed in, trying to calm himself. He did get to look calm, his internal fire being covered by a no-nonsense cold exterior.

Alassares looked his Brother in the eyes, his forehead distended, but his voice constrained. “Brother, I know you since my birth. If you are thinking of tomorrow as a sacrifice, if you think you will give your life, that you’ll be there and allow yourself to be killed for everyone and that I’ll just watch, you are very mistaken. If you die there, if you don’t resist and survive, I will go after you, and I will go after that Dragon, and I promise you, Brother, I will either kill that Dragon, or that Dragon will kill me. Your blood will not flow alone, Brother, as it never has. So, unless you want my blood in your hands, you better not be thinking of dying tomorrow. I will not see you die there and get out with my life; I promise you that.”

Alecrias swallowed his saliva and his tears as he heard Alassares’s words, his younger Brother’s serious monologue hiding his internal anger, powerlessness, frustration and sadness under a cover of honest determination.

“I never for a second considered it, don’t worry,” lied the older brother, and then Alassares went around the table and hugged his Brother once more, this time sobbing profusely before repeating. “I mean it, I mean it, all right?”

Alecrias just hugged him with quiet tears, saying “I know,” and stroking his back gently. He did know, and he knew he had to survive.

Meanwhile, Oberion, still sitting, held his knees in a tight grip—”I guess I knew that something was wrong with this, but I didn’t want to admit it to myself. Thank the Gods for Alassares,” he thought to himself.

Not long after the young men separated, with Oberion and Alecrias staying in the Prince Imperial’s tent and Alassares leaving for the Knight’s tent. Alecrias and Oberion renewed their vows to each other after they were left alone, and the Knight returned one of the cuffs to the right wrist of his husband, the Prince Imperial.

Alassares is at Oberion’s comfortable tent, one that is fit for a nobleman such as himself. He had brough certain ingredients and material with him—including a large pot. He had also taken one of his brother-in-law’s swords and put it besides it. He sighed: if he wanted his brother to survive, he’d need more than speed. Alassares knew Alecrias would need strength and resilience, as the Dragon would most certainly attack him. And that’s why he had planned that second potion.

The second prince went outside and asked to talk to a few of the guards who were around, six in total combining those around his tent and those in patrol nearby.

“I need the service of one of you,” said the mage. “Which one of you can serve me?” he asked. The other men, all between 20 and 25 years old, looked to each other a bit awkwardly.

“Your Highness, is this the sort of service a nobleman might ask of his servants?” asked one of the guards, receiving the gaze of the young prince. Alassares smirked.

“Yes, it is. But in this case it also involves magic, and some compensation,” he said, and then waited for about a second for some reply. None came. “Maybe someone else amongst your ranks would take me up in my offer?” he suggested, but soon one of the guards stepped forward.

“Yes, Your Highness!” said another guard, one with a low-pitched voice, a broad shoulder, thick neck and an angular face. The prince’s eyebrows rose in surprise, noticing that in practice he had two volunteers.

“Very well, what are your names?” the nobleman asked.

“Ilnueh, Your Highness!” said the guard with an angular face. The Prince nodded.

“What about you?” asked Alassares, taking another step towards the guard who had taken a step forward, noticing even under the moonlight that he had a cute face.

“Umaram, Your Highness,” responded the cute guard, lifting his face towards the second prince.

“Perfect,” Alassares nodded, satisfied. “The rest of you are dismissed, return to your duties. The two of you, come with me. I want to make your fantasies real,” he said, and then the three men returned to Oberion’s lent tent.

Alassares did eye the guards who followed him as they walked in, and thought to himself that he might as well have some fun while he was at it. He was supremely horny, after all, having spend hours with his Brother having to see a Oberion naked– the forbidden fruit, but a juicy one nonetheless. He sighed just slightly, brushing those thoughts aside—he wanted to concentrate on how he wanted his Brother to continue living, and to have him and Oberion one day occupy the throne as a married couple. If they could overcome this obstacle, all future ones would be easy.

“Your Highness, what should we do now?” asked the cute soldier once they were in the middle of the tent.

The second prince smirked—he was lucky, after all.

“Now you will both get naked, I will transform you and make our wildest feverish dreams come true, and you will milk me and collect my seed with that pot,” said the Prince, pointing towards the large black pot on the table.

“Your Highness comes that much?!” asked the larger, buffier of the guards. The prince started removing his clothes and laughed at the question.

“Not usually, but tonight I will,” he said, and as his pieces of clothing were thrown away, the soldiers also noted the prince’s muscles bulging, expanding; his cock lengthening like a snake, still completely soft, and even his balls trembling as they gained volume.

“Oh, Gods!” said Umaram, surprised. Alassares licked his lips as his body gained heat and continued to expand.

“Just call me Alassares tonight, but come on, get undressed already,” said the nobleman, and then the two guards rushed to release their bodies from their armor.


Alassares’s body was expanding, in mass, size and height, while also exuding a strong heat and a masculine smell. His two guards had by now come to him, also naked, and started stroking his muscles. That made Alassares moan, as his internal heat met the external stimulation, and his figure started to expand even faster—muscles grew, and even if they rippled under the second prince’s skin like water, they were still sturdy and strong to the guardsmen’s touches.

“How do you do that?” asked cute Umaram, overwhelmed by the expanding muscles of the second prince’s body. Alassares smiled, as he continued to expand and emit a soothing heat.

“Magic, of course. Tell me, is there anything about you that you’d like to change?” asked the nobleman, his voice continually dropping lower as he grew. Umaram’s cock was hard, bouncing and throbbing as he moved, as his hands felt the prince’s muscles, and they stroke his muscular pecs—finding them amazingly larger after each stroke.

“Your Highness, if I could ask for anything, I wish I could take your manhood,” said the guard, now looking down towards Alassares’s expanding cock and balls—which had by now certainly even surpassed Oberion’s sword. To Umaram, it reminded the Red Tower of great Sassahim fortress in his hometown—the head was thick and pointy, the shaft, red and study.

“Perfect. Kiss me, then,” the prince commanded, and then held Umaram’s face, pulling it into a kiss. Of course, that demanded Alassares to bend a little, as he was so much taller than the guards, and continued to grow. Still, he easily managed to reach Umaram’s lips with his own, and his tongue invaded the guard’s wet mouth. The men then exchanged saliva, and Alassares used it as an opening and means for his magic, which started transforming the smaller man: Umaram’s ass grew and grew, becoming thicker, and overall, bubblier; his whole body also elongated, although his muscles continued tight; the only other part of him that changed considerably was his pectorals, which gained considerable volume, and his abs: he now had eight, and then ten, and then eleven and twelve, of those. As such, slowly, Umaram’s height also rose, decreasing the space between his mouth and Alassares’s.

“Perfect,” said the second prince, breaking apart the kiss and looking at his creation: a sexy, cute, tall and perfectly smooth twink with a wonderfully shaped butt and a surprising number of abs. He couldn’t contain himself and slapped his bouncy ass. “You will take me, but remember to collect my seed in the pot,” the nobleman said, and the Umaram nodded violently. “Now you, what would you like to become?” asked the prince to Ilnueh.

The other guard, who was larger and more muscular, was also completely hard and had started stroking him own dick as he saw his comrade’s body changing with the kiss. Suddenly, Ilnueh realized that the powers of a mage were not to be joked with, and that he could take use this opportunity to live some of his deepest fantasies. He smirked, and his eyes shone.

“Your Highness, just use me as you see fit,” said the larger man, although by now he was short compared to the expanded version of Umaram. Alassares smiled at the thought.

“I am not really into that, Ilnueh. I like when my men show some strength,” said the taller and most muscular of the three, kneeling and bending to the surprise of the other two, until he could take Ilnueh’s hard wet cock in his mouth. Alassares then started sucking it, and letting his magic flow down Ilnueh’s endowment and into the rest of his body, making him larger, taller and more muscular.

As Alassares sucked the cock, he also grew it, and reshaped it—he liked licking the cock with his overgrown tongue, and then going deep on it until the head was entering his throat. Soon, Alassares was so sucking that alabaster rod that he was panting, moaning, holding the guard’s ass and pulling it towards his mouth so that he could take all of Ilnueh’s extending cock. The prince moaned loudly, and Ilnueh did so too, shocked at receiving a blowjob from the nobleman, and feeling an immense pleasure from having his body grow in muscle, change and expand.

That went on until Alassares, taken by bliss when the large hot rod was fully engulfed by his being, looked up towards its owner’s face—he was shocked to see an extreme resemblance to naked image of Oberion that had been carved in his mind during the previous hours in the muscles, hair and even face of the man he was sucking. He then realized even the cock within him must be similar, and that this was due to his magic and horniness—immediately, he changed the flow of his powers to undo it.

Quickly, Ilnueh started fucking the second prince’s face, while his body transformed once more, now recovering the guard’s overall appearance, including his height, but with increasing amounts of muscle. Ilnueh’s arms and legs were ballooning—so much so that the guard had to move them apart from one another just so his muscles wouldn’t touch, and to find space for his also growing balls down there. Meanwhile, Alassares joined in the fucking, using his neck to shove his head into Ilnueh’s cock, forcing the large rod in and out of his system with mastery—causing them both excruciating delight. Soon, expanding his muscles and being sucked by the prince was too much for Ilnueh, whose balls were being squeezed by Alassares’s enormous pecs and their owner’s thick thighs every time the princely mouth fell on the soldier’s rod.

Ilnueh came, and with his orgasm into Alassares’s mouth came a new flow of energy and transformation from the prince to the guard—Ilnueh expanded, he expanded so much his muscles were locking with one another. He fell on the bed, since he could hardly now balance himself anymore, and his cock was thusly pulled completely from inside the prince—most of his shots, thus, flying all through the tent and falling meters away; his transformation also subsiding as the prince no longer sent shockwaves of magical powers into him.

“Perfectly strong,” said Alassares, now moving on top of Ilnueh, who could hardly move other than breathing. “Don’t worry, this change is temporary, but we can enjoy it for now,” the prince tranquilized the much more muscular man, while sitting on top of his immense abs and cock, and stroking his immense pectorals.

“Umaram,” ordered the prince, calling the other guard. “Now come, sit here on top of his pecs. I want to fuck you. But remember to go get the pot when I tell you to,” Alassares said, and Umaram nodded, moving exactly to where he was commanded to go.

“Your Highness, I can hardly believe how immense Ilnueh is now,” said Umaram, while trying to climb up his comrade’s immense firm pectorals, his hard cock rubbing on those muscles, making both men moan in pleasure.

“I will show you more unbelievable things if you like,” said the prince, then helping the cute smaller guard up with his nice big arms, putting him on top of the larger guard’s pecs so that his butt crack aligned precisely with the valley between the immense pectorals that Ilnueh possessed. Sitting there, Umaram had his legs wide apart, trying to go around Ilnueh’s immense mountainous pectoral muscles, which also made Umaram’s bubbly but point relatively upwards even while sitting, his back to the prince, facing his comrade’s face.

“Please, Your Highness,” said the slender long guy, biting his lips in anticipation, his ass hungry for the princely tool whose movements he had eyed while Alassares satisfied himself with Ilnueh’s cock.

The prince needed not be asked twice: making two movements at once, he rose his own ass so that he could take Ilnueh’s large rod, now about 45 centimeters long and incredibly thick, and sat on it at once, expanding his guts pleasurably and making the immense immobile giant scream in pleasure; after his ass was firmly filled by the large sexy meat, the Prince then took his own cock in his hands, and while moving his hips to be able to get more pleasure in his bottom, managed to point his own 65cm hard snake towards Ilnueh’s pecs, which he started to fuck in one fluid motion. After hammering the pecs, and getting his ass hammered, exactly three times, Alassares also fixed his aim so that in one long thrust his penis’s head would meet the asshole of his cute little Umaram.

Feeling the snake coming up and pressuring against his bottom, Umaram tried to move away, but the prince forced him down by holding his shoulders in place.

“Fear not, you can take it. I have made sure of it,” said Alassares’s soothing voice, and in the next thrust Umaram contained himself, relaxed all his muscles, and was penetrated by about 40cm of the nobleman’s immensely thick snake—occupying his guts in areas he didn’t know existed, making him feel things he didn’t think he could.

“Hmmm, Your Highness… oh Gods, please, more,” said the petite dude with the hungry ass filled for the first time, when Alassares pulled, just to thrust in again, making him scream in pleasure. Alassares, at the very same time, also fucking Ilnueh’s dick with his ass, shoving it on the large rod, and then pulling away. The other guard—his mouth being one of the muscles he could still control—shook and trembled and grunted in delight.

“Delicious,” said the prince with his rich, deep, immensely sexy voice, continuing the double fuckery of penetrating and being penetrated, sweating profusely but caring little for his partners other than controlling Umaram’s body with his hands—pulling him up and pushing him down when needed. Ilnueh, of course, was fixed in place all the while, and as such only registered to Alassares as a cock that trembled inside his ass, somehow connected to the mountain of muscle on which he sat, and a faraway mouth which grunted in extasy.

While Umaram’s body was being used by the prince, the cute guard felt a great satisfaction, as if his whole being had been created to be fucked by the large imperial rod—which was kind of true in that context. He felt the thrusts reach deep and moaned, and then when the cock left his ass almost entirely he panted exasperated—loving the stimulation to his muscles, but desiring ardently for its return. Soon, the lad was moving his own ass up and down as to increase the pace of the fucking, while still following the prince’s overall motion. To do that, the guard lowers his arms so they’d get support from Ilnueh’s enormous hard pecs where he was sitting.

The results were delicious, and made Umaram’s cock bounce up and down as he moved his butt. Soon, the guard noticed that if he raised his butt even more, not only would the angle of the prince’s trust change and go deeper inside his guts, but also that it would allow him to rub his own cock between Ilnueh’s enormous meaty pecs. Umaram then gave it a shot, raising his ass while continuing the up and down motion, rubbing his cock on Ilnueh’s flesh valley until he could get it in. And oh, was it delightful when it was in: his ass being attacked by the prince’s cock, his own cock invading his fellow guardsman’s pecs.

“Hmmm, fuck, fuck,” said the cute guy, throwing his head back, uncapable of containing himself in an orgasm that came from his soul and which was fully delivered inside the Grand Canyon of Ilnueh’s pectoral muscles, making them even wetter as they rubbed into one another.

“Yesss, tremble in pleasure for me,” said the prince, still shoving his cock inside the guardsman even as the cute man came, his ass twitching around the princely cock as the smaller man’s muscles pumped out his cum and reproduced physically the overwhelming pleasure of his magical orgasm.

After a long time fucking Ilnueh and Umaram, the prince increased his pace. Running away from the mindlessness of sexual bliss, Alassares pulled Umaram from his cock, moving his center of gravity back as he started to sit with more and more need and hunger on Ilnueh’s cock, trying to get more pleasure from his ass—unknowingly magically expanding the guard’s hardon in the process to 50, 55, 60 and then 65cm long, and incredibly thick too.

“Go! Umaram, get the pot! I am going to come!” screamed the prince, alarmed, as he increased the pace of being fucked, as his arms and hands moved towards his enormous cock—their objective being to have a tight grip on it, to prevent any early flow of his precious liquids. “Fast!!!!” ordered the prince once again, finally waking Umaram from his own ecstatic state.

The cute languid twink, covered in sweat—except his cum-overflowing ass—moved slowly towards the large pot on the table, and then more quickly, with urgency even.

“Just a second, Your Highness,” said the guard, taking the pot and then bringing it near the nobleman.

“My cockhead, my cockhead. Don’t lose one drop of it!” the prince said, between grunts, as his ass went up and down the immense and growing cock of muscular Ilnueh. Umaram then put the pot’s open top exactly in front of Alassares’s slit, which was overflowing with precum. The prince immediately went from holding his shaft with a tight grip with both hands to stroking it with barbarous violence. “Hold it there, hold it there! It is coming, this is a big one!!” he then alerted between moans.

And big it was—the first shot so strong that Umaram almost lost the grasp of the pot. He only didn’t let the pot fly away from the power of Alassares’s orgasm because he had been warned about it, and thus was holding the pot very firmly. The first shot filled almost a quarter of the pot; the second and third hits being less powerful, but still impressively bountiful. The fourth filled the pot completely, and a still moaning Alassares commanded it to be put aside, immediately going down on himself and taking his cockhead in his mouth as soon as he could, to drink the rest of his fluids.

After sucking himself dry, Alassares stood up, Ilnueh’s cock leaving his ass completely and then falling with a thud on the larger man’s meaty pecs. The prince then walked down from the immobilized man’s abs and took the pot in his own hands.

“Perfect. Now enjoy yourselves while I don’t come back,” he said, taking a few other materials and walking towards the back of the tent, away from their view, behind several curtains. “I recommend, Umaram, that you get yourself some of Ilnueh’s delicious cock in the meantime,” he said, winking, before disappearing behind the curtains.

For pleasure and duty, Umaram climbed back up over Ilnueh’s body and positioned his body exactly so that his asshole was aligned with Ilnueh’s large hardon. He then fell on it, slowly allowing all of it inside his system, until his large beautiful ass cheeks rested against Ilnueh’s immobile crotch—his eyes rolling wildly as his body trembled in delight.

“Oh Gods, so fuuuull,” exclaimed the guardsman, almost drowning in his pleasure, his voice heard by Alassares behind the curtains with a smile.


Alassares still wanted to enjoy his two guards, but before that came his secret plan. He took the pot full of his cum and placed it in front of him. He then took his arm and cut it above the pot, mixing his semen with his own blood until it overflowed the pot. He then cured himself, and threw in a few herbs.

“Now just one thing left to do,” he said, as threw about 90% of the contents of the pot onto the fire, which burned more intensively, releasing a metallic and salty smell which reminded him of semen and blood, or the sea and iron ore mixed and combined.

He then put his hand on the fire and took a handful of its ashes, and threw it in the potion. He mixed it more and then put the resulting dark red liquid in a large vial he had brought with him from the Masters’ room.

“There it is,” he thought to himself. “When I feed this to my Brother tomorrow, it will give him the chance to defeat the beast by connecting our bodies so that whatever harms is done to him injures to me instead.” He smiled, pleased with himself, and then shuddered. “I just hope Brother was being truthful when he said he is planning on surviving tomorrow.”

He sighed, put down the vial in a cupboard, and went back to the main space, on the other side of the curtain where he saw his two sexy guards fucking. He smiled. He had a few other ideas he still wanted to try out with them before going to sleep.

Alassares woke up from his sleep soaked in cold sweat and, slowly remembering his situation, realized he was laying alone on Oberion’s bed—the men who had joined him the last night having departured earlier, to attend their duties. He sighed, feeling a bit lonely, and sensing his hard cock rubbing against the undersize of his pecs, as it rested on his abs, emanating warmth—his body had returned to normal, but his normal erection was still plenty large.

The second prince lowered his arms towards his cock, and caressed his pecs with his right hand, while the left one he used to stroke his sensitive glans. As he delighted himself with his touch, he remembered his faithful sword, Elgaro, and missed its company—were it there with him, certainly it would now be alleviating his need and later also be useful in battle. But for now, the young prince would have to take care of his problems himself, no matter how big, long and hard they were.

Alassares knew how to pleasure himself, but he was not in the mood to dwell in the delights of the flesh today—so he just put both his hands around his fat longness, and started stroking it. “Damn,” he thought to himself. “if Elgaro were here, I could feed it my juice and then use it against the Dragon—but I guess one cannot have everything. My potion… it will work and buy us time to save my brother, even if he is captured,” he manages to conjecture in thought, even as his hands beat his meat.

His imagination then flew away, back to the Magic Academy, to Oblodun and his half-horse body—thankfully the second prince had already acquired this form, by tasting Oblodun’s juice, quite a while ago. He had also transformed into it many times, and felt confident in using it, if necessary, although his possession of it was still a secret. He hadn’t yet revealed this ability to anybody, but the opportunity of transforming into a centaur might also prove to be as useful as it had proven to be fun, and he’d not restrain from using it if that proved to be the case.

As Alassares felt his orgasm arriving, the young nobleman raised his body, while continuing to stroke his hardon. He then brought his cockhead really close to his pecs, and lowered his mouth enough to take the wet slit into his mouth. He tongued himself, opening the slit and consuming its sweet, sweet liquor—before his balls trembled, and his orgasms proceeded to inundate his mouth with his imperial white semen. Alassares drank all of his own liquids expertly, before getting off the bed and allowing his softening cock to fall between his legs. His sizeable semi was still dripping cum on the floor, then—to avoid that, Alassares simply took his semi-hardened cock and gave it a final stroke, trying to force any leftover cum out of his member, with limited success.

As he stood up, he started to change—not so much in appearance, but his skin became thicker and more resistant, and also brighter. It was still elastic, it was still his skin, but using his magical powers and his own semen as a means, Alassares managed to increase his skin’s strength against external attacks at least a little. He didn’t feel much change, but any small help was something. When the process was done, the young man collapsed onto his knees on the floor—panting and sweating a lot, the lad was obviously tired. He felt dirty and hungry, but even seeing the food that the servants had brough for him on the table, he was more worried about getting his potion to his brother than eating, right now.

“I need to take a bath first,” he thought to himself, trying to collect some strength to stand up again, despite his muscles feeling a bit soft and sore. “Or they’ll be too disgusted to eat with me,” he sighed. When he finally managed to stand up, he had to hold onto the big wooden closet inside the tent as not to fall once more.

“Guards! Servants!” he then called with all his lungs. Soon, the two guardsmen who had been guarding his tent were inside, looking at their naked second prince. They first looked downwards, towards his dangling softie which seemed strangely wet, and then up towards his handsome face, which seemed troubled.

“Yes, Your Highness!” they both said at once, saluting him, and the second prince sighed.

“You,” he pointed to the one in the right. “Go tell the servants to prepare me a bath, immediately. Also, tell my Brother that I shall join him in his tent for breakfast,” he commands, and the guard immediately leaves, running in a hurry to follow his orders. Alassares then looks at the other guard, a handsome brown-skinned man called Zatar, who he had noticed had watched his dangling cock just a tab bit longer than the other one.

“Now you,” he said, sternly, making Zatar correct his posture and scream:

“At your disposal, Your Highness!” Alassares just smiled and extended his left arm.

“Help me to the table, there’s something I need to get—well, two things, actually,” he said, and then the guard approached him carefully, got under his arm, and helped the tired nobleman to approach the table. The second prince then sat on a chair, Zatar being left standing beside him, and glazed longingly over the food on the table—he actually licked his lips while his eyes travelled between the cakes, cheeses, breads and fruits, as he was truly hungry. Regardless, he only took a small pot filled with a dark red liquid. He then grabbed one of the flasks filled with juice, drank its contents, and filled it with the dark red liquid.

“Anything else, Your Highness?” asked Zatar, attracting the self-satisfied eyes of the second prince, who still seemed tired, but less so with each passing second. Alassares looked at the guard and decided to take an apple and bite it, while he waited for his bath to be ready—he’d still be plenty hungry when he went to eat with his brother, even if he chewed an apple. He also took the sword he had used to cut himself the previous day, and saw his dried blood on its blade—”not as good as Elgaro, but it will have to do for today,” he thought to himself, bringing it closer to him.

“Yes,” he responded to the guard. “When your colleague comes here to prepare my bath with the servants, I’ll need some help scrubbing myself. Will you be willing to join me?” asked the second prince, making it clear with his tone of voice that he wanted a volunteer.

Zatar bit his lips, looking down on the prince and seeing only his handsome face staring at him, as well as his broad pecs moving as his imperial highness breathed, and his thick arm muscles contracting as he held that sweet apple. Zatar felt almost hypnotized by the shapes and eyes of the handsome nobleman, who then took another bite of his apple—the sound and sudden movement finally bringing Zatar back to reality.

“Ye-yes, Your Highness!” he responded, and Alassares smiled, kindly.

“Have you had anything to eat yet? Please, serve yourself,” he offered, and Zatar, completely dumbfounded and not knowing how to react, picked some bread and shoved into his face. Alassares looked at him a bit funny. “Do you not want to sit while you eat?” he asked.

Zatar almost spit the bread he had in his mouth to respond:

“No need, Your Highness! I wouldn’t dare!” he replied, and Alassares just nodded, looking back towards the food, the sword and the potion in the flask. He missed his friends from the academy once again, he felt lonely and cold—maybe because he was naked—but that had reminded him of his brother: he wouldn’t be alone while his brother was alive, and so, for his own sake as well as his brother’s, he had to save him.


Oberion felt a weird tingle as he woke up, and then the feeling grew: it was like his dick had penetrated a small wet cave, and then the cave contracted and expanding, almost as if it was milking his penis. Also, inside that cave there was a thick wet carpet which rubbed against his hardness and brushed against his glans—it was both nice and a bit of an odd image, although the feelings were familiar. Oberion raised his head to look below and beyond his extraordinary pecs, seeing his husband—Alecrias, the Prince Imperial—sucking on his erect member.

“What are you doing!?” he asked, startled, but also delighted with the feelings his lover’s mouth were delivering. Alecrias couldn’t really respond, not with his mouth filled like that, so he didn’t—he just continued sucking, and, noticing his beloved was now awake, became even harsher in his actions, starting to fondle his big balls and also to increase the speed with which his mouth took and then release the majority of Oberion’s male organ.

“Hmmmmm, fuck, Alecrias,” said Oberion, enjoying the treatment his penis was getting. “I want you to wake me up like this everyday from now on,” he joked, as his Alecrias picked up pace. His own Alecrias, his husband, his Prince, his lord and suzerain—now sucking his penis, as if wanting to eat him altogether. Honestly, he understood the feeling.

Oberion moaned as Alecrias gagged, and then the knight took his right hand behind Alecrias’s head and forced his cock into his mouth and throat, deeper than before. Alecrias grunted and moaned several times as the larger man fucked his face and his throat was filled with the immense organ. As the prince imperial was penetrated, his own cock became hard while crushed between his body and the bed on which they laid—tainting the mattress with his precum, which came out generously.

Soon, Oberion came inside Alecrias, delivering his white stuff so deep in his lover that no swallowing was needed. When his orgasm subsided, he pulled off and Alecrias gasped, feeling the immense more than half-a-meter long erection leave his body. Meanwhile, his own rod continued hot and red, demanding release. He moaned as his mouth was emptied, and rubbed his cock on the mattress while making lewd noises which told Oberion that his royal prick still lusted for him.

“Here, I’ll help you,” said the Knight, throwing his lover around so that his cock would now be pointed up, and holding the large angry wood with his hands. Oberion smiled and started stroking Alecrias’s hard penis, making him moan while praising his husband.

“I… hmmmm… wish we could continue this forever…hrrr,” said the Prince Imperial, and then Oberion’s mouth opened in a smile, one which was soon to be broken apart by the knight’s decision to go down on the head of Alecrias’s cock. “I love you so much, my Gooood,” said the Prince Imperial, enjoying his husband’s attention—especially when his head moved sideways, sucking his glans hard and strong.

Suddenly, a guard enters the tent, interrupting the noblemen. Surprised, Oberion lets go of the imperial cock, his mouth wet with saliva and precum; the rod falling onto the Prince’s ripped body with a thud. The guard’s eyes are wide open, as he sees a cock in the imperial line of succession for the second time in only a few minutes.

“What is it?!” asks Oberion, angry and embarrassed, but also immediately leaving the bed and standing up—his height, his muscle, and his long half-hard member impressing humbleness into the guard.

“Your, Your Grace! I am sorry for my intrusion, but His Highness, Prince Alassares, sent me to inform His Highness the Prince Imperial that he’ll be joining you both for breakfast soon,” said the guard, while almost trembling on his legs while Oberion approached him.

“I see…,” said the knight, then getting really close to the guard. Even in full military gear, he still felt small and exposed near Oberion’s immense muscle and powerful physique. “Soldier, you can go now,” said the knight, slowly, and the guard saluted him.

“Yes, Your Grace!” and then he moved back a step, as if about to flee. Oberion followed him, taking a step forward—he was so close to the soldier that his softie hit the guardsman’s armor around the leg as it swung. While the guard looked up, towards Oberion’s powerful pecs, Oberion looked down, deep into the guard’s eyes.

“But remember, you have not seen anything here today,” warned the knight, and the guard nodded.

“Ye-yes, Your Grace!” he yelled, afraid. Oberion’s visage softened, and he moved back, away from the smaller man. “But what about what all that the camp has heard this last week, Your Grace?” asked the guard, in a much softer tone, in between bravery and cowardice.

Hearing those words, Oberion’s eyes widened and his face, surprisingly to the soldier, flushed. For a second, the silence which occupied the tent was deafening—until the Prince Imperial laughed, loudly and whole-heartedly. He had also left the bed, and was now walking to Oberion, his hard dick jerking to one side and then the other as he walked, precum still flowing from his slit and coating the long royal member in a shiny slime.

“It’s okay,” he said to the terrified guard, and then hugged the embarrassed knight, his hard dick sliding against the Oberion’s ass cheeks as he did so, coating them as well in precum. “Leave us now. I am sure you have other businesses to attend,” he ordered to the soldier, who saluted him at once. “Just tell Alassares we’ll be waiting for him to come.”

“Yes, Your Highness! I’ll leave at once!” said the soldier, and, almost tripping in his hurriedness, he left, leaving the two noblemen alone.

Alecrias hugged Oberion from behind, and now his hard cock invaded the larger man’s butt crack. Oberion, still embarrassed, rubbed his ass against his lover’s groin, as if asking for more.

“I’d love to,” said Alecrias, moving to face Oberion’s face, and thus taking his cock out of the warm, muscular butt crack. “But we have other things to do. We have to drink the potions and get ready for my brother’s arrival.”

Oberion nodded, and hugged Alecrias back, holding him tight in his arms. The Prince’s imperial hardon now trapped between their muscles, rubbing on Oberion’s abs. Their pecs also crashed and rub onto one another—the sensations that gave the two lovers were so pleasant it was almost illegal.

“Don’t worry too much about this,” said the Prince, taking one hand from behind his lover and moving it to Oberion’s face—then, moving to force that handsome face towards his, and kissing his thick red lips. After kissing for a while, Oberion’s cock had risen once again, and was now rubbing against Alecrias’s erection, like two swords in a duel. “Our cocks, the rumors, we can take care of this later,” the Prince said, softly, after braking their kiss.

Oberion heard those words, which echoed in his ears as a call and a prayer, and a ray of optimism crossed the dark clouds of his innermost feelings. With teary eyes, he nodded, and then broke their hug, moving towards the table which had been covered in delicacies for their breakfast, looking for the pots with the elixirs that Alassares had prepared.

“You are right,” said the knight, then moving towards the pots and taking them; he gave one to the handsome prince, and rose the other to the skies. “May our Prince Imperial live long and happy!” he proclaimed. Alecrias took the other pot with his hand, and laughed at the toast Oberion proposed. He rose his own pot up and responded.

“May the Gods follow him and his husband on their every endeavor!” proclaimed the Prince, and then the two of them brought the drinks to their lips and drank them clean.

“Arrrgh! This is awful!” said Oberion, grimacing and putting his pot back on the table. “But I guess it will be useful—I can already feel something changing inside me,” he completed. Indeed, to Alecrias’s eyes, his lover’s body was morphing slowly—his muscles seemed to expand, and his legs were… becoming longer?

“Really?” the Prince asked, surprised. He walked to the table and put his pot there as well, his hard cock still bouncing as he walked. “I found mine quite tasty”—he said, and then he moaned; a sharp, loud, guttural cry.

“What is it?!” asked a worried Oberion, holding the Prince’s hand and looking him in the eyes.

“Ahhhmmmm-ahhh!” the Prince moaned, in a surprise mix of pain and pleasure, and his pecs started to expand rapidly, as did his other muscles, growing much faster than Oberion’s, for some reason. The growth caused jolts of electricity to run through his body, making all his muscles contract and then relax, except that when they relaxed they retained their augmented size—until, that is, they contracted again, when their successive growth became obvious. “Awwwwhaaaaa!” voiced Alecrias, from deep in his troat, as even his mouth misbehaved as his every muscle contracted, expanded and then relaxed, just to repeat the process once again.

Oberion could only hold his lover’s hand and stroke his muscles, trying to alleviate his—delightful—pain. Fortunately, Oberion’s own changes were not so overwhelming—apparently, Alassares’s magic was a bit faster and more effective in his brother’s body than in Oberion’s. Still, as he massaged Alecrias’s pecs and arms and then neck and back, the Knight noticed he was growing taller and taller, and that his own muscles were burning hot—they contracted and relaxed erratically, growing slowly and also making the knight feel hyperaware of his body’s sensations.

Meanwhile, Alecrias’s muscles contracted and relaxed almost all at once, like a heartbeat—the royal young man expanded in each cycle, his cock bobbing as a response to the impulses of his responsive muscles. Soon, Alecrias’s expansion, all the hormones running through him, and Oberion’s attention to stroking and caressing the princely body, all led to his cock releasing an eruption of white, burning hot cum, which flew up and ended up landing on the imperial heir’s torso, percs and face, coating him in white.

A few more minutes of growth ensued for the Prince Imperial, whose muscles had locked him standing during the whole process. He was now a monster where he had been ripped—his pecs had surpassed those of Oberion’s, as had all his other muscles. Now, at rest, his legs rubbed into one another, and so did his pecs; also, both his arms rubbed on this torso, and overall the Prince Imperial found many of his muscles were now in the way of other muscles and their natural movement. Although Alecrias had not gained in height, his strength had increased even beyond the augmented volume of his body—he felt powerful, now he would able to fight against a bear, if he had needed to. Hopefully, a Dragon wouldn’t be much different, then.

When his growth trickled down, the Prince Imperial fell on top of his Oberion, as all his muscles suddenly relaxing at once—larger, but also completely exhausted. Oberion was, himself, still growing, but he managed to carry the now much heavier Alecrias and laid him on one of the chairs around the breakfast table. Feeling that his own slower growth didn’t overwhelm his senses, he called for the servants to arrange them a bath.

“Yes, bring two bathtubs here for us, and the utensils. Fast, as Prince Alassares will be coming to see us soon!” he ordered, while his lover still sat on his chair, recovering from the overflowing sensations of his orgasmic growth and expanded orgasm. “No, we do not need help. Now go, now!”


Alassares arrived at his older brother’s tent with two servants—one carried some clothes that Alassares had decided to bring to Oberion, the other carried several weapons from the knight’s collection which he had left in his tent. The two servants entered after the young prince, who was taken aback by finding the Prince Imperial sitting in a large wooden bathtub filled with warm water, his large erection being cleaned by his noble hands and thus proudly pointing upwards, reaching much, much beyond the waterline. Meanwhile Oberion stood tall in another bathtub, using a bucket to wash his body—his muscular butt and his amazingly shaped body facing the arriving crowd. Particularly nice were the knight’s legs, which had become extra-long and well defined, as well as his outstanding V-shaped torso, over which water was being thrown, hitting his every muscle as it flowed down back into the tub.

“I see you both have already taken the potions I prepared,” said the youngest prince, with a smile. Oberion turned to the back, towards the arriving party, and suddenly used the bucket he held to hide his erection—although the recipient was far to small for that task. “Maybe it could contain his balls, if he had tried that…,” thought Alassares to himself, amusedly.

At the exact same time, Alecrias let go of his hard cock, which fell on his pecs splashing the water of his bath, still too long to be fully hidden below the warm liquid—the head of his organ now going far beyond his pecs, reaching well above his own thirsty mouth.

“Put the things on the bed and leave us alone,” said Alassares to the servants, who proceeded to do just that. When the three noblemen were finally alone, the youngest of them turned towards the other two. “It worked better than I had expected,” he commented, taking in the image of their expanded bodies. “But do not worry, this state will only last some eight hours and then you shall return to normal,” he informed. Oberion nodded.

“I see you are wearing my clothes, Alassares,” he noted. The young prince nodded, showing them off. He actually looked very good in them, as their cut gave him mobility while accentuating his frame—as a knight’s clothes would.

“Although they are a bit big for me, I didn’t think you’d mind me borrowing some of your garbs, Brother-in-law,” he responded, with a quirky smile, leaving the older man unable to articulate a response. “I also brought some of your weapons and clothes, so as to facilitate our preparations for today’s event. I imagine both Brother and Brother-in-law do not fit in the attires you have brought anymore, so after you chose what to wear, I can adjust it with an enchantment,” he says, going towards the bed and touching the fabric of the clothes he had brough. It was very fine fabric, soft to the touch.

“You can do that?” asked Alecrias, sounding pretty impressed. Alassares laughed a little.

“Of course, Brother. It’s much simpler than the potion I made yesterday,” he responded, looking back a little and seeing his brother’s face partly obscured by his larger erection. Alassares then cleared his throat and looked back to the bed, now looking at the weapons he had his servants bring. “Also, Brother-in-law, I hope you don’t mind but I took this sword for myself as I haven’t brought any weapons with me,” said the younger prince, unsheathing the sword he had carried with him—the same one which had tasted his blood yesterday, although its blade was now clean.

Oberion looked at the blade of the unsheathed sword and felt it had a special connection to Alassares, although he couldn’t tell exactly what it was.

“Of course. In fact, I think you should keep it from now on, even if you already have your magical weapon back in the capital,” the knight responded. Alassares chuckled.

“Ah, Elgaro? It would be nice to make it a bit jealous, so it starts at least thanking me when I feed it my seed,” he commented, half amused. Soon after, however, he felt awkward looking at his brother and brother-in-law completely naked and bathing themselves, so he cleared his throat. “Well, I will wait for you two to finish your bath outside. Call me when you have chosen your clothes,” he said, looking shily to the ceiling. The two other men agreed and he soon left them alone.

Once they were alone once more, Oberion sighed, releasing some tension, and plunging in his bath—making the water overflow thanks to his immense volume which now added to it. Alecrias laughed, after feeling a little awkward, and decided that his dick was plenty clean for now, and so he started washing and exploring his newly augmented muscles—that, of course, didn’t help in bringing his erection down, neither did it alleviate Oberion’s horniness, as he watching the Prince Imperial stroking and rubbing his own muscles underwater from his own bathtub.

“Maybe…,” started Oberion, his rod hard hitting his pecs when his still expanding muscles spasmed involuntarily. “…it’d be quicker if we just beat them to submission,” he completed. Alecrias looked at his lover, his sword-like member sometimes hitting the hard muscle of his pecs, sometimes the hard wood of the bathtub, as his tendons contracted and expanded, slowly but also violently at times.

“Okay,” he said, and then stood up, facing Oberion, and started stroking his cock once more.

Oberion responded by standing up as well, and pulling his own cock towards hic abs—the length was sufficiently great to reach his pecs, and so he forced his glans to be nested into his thin, but delicious, tit valley. Oberion then started fucking his own pecs, while his hands stroked his shaft and held his dick in place—so it wouldn’t slide out of his pec canyon.

“That’s so unfair,” said Alecrias, eating his husband with his eyes as he beat his own meat. “You are… too… sexy,” he cried between moans, as his speed increased—as his imperial balls went back and forth, hitting his legs in their pendular motion, and as his imperial bat was chocked by his hands.

Oberion, who was both fucking his pecs, stroking his cock, and watching his beloved suzerain beat his meat while looking at him, groaned and finally came deep within his valley, covering his pecs in hot male spunk. Soon after, the Prince let out a delightful guttural screech, while his cock let out a series of powerful juts of cum, which hit Oberion on his head, pecs and then abs, coating him in even more male juice. Oberion loved each splash, and he even opened his mouth to take some of the delicious liquid, but most of it ended elsewhere on his body. The knight then plunged back into his bath water, washing away most of the viscous life liquids that coated him, but leaving the water unusable. He then took a step outside of his bathtub, and then another, into his lover’s.

“Now let’s both get clean, at once,” he said, serious. Alecrias, who had watched the beautiful scene of his seed splashing against his husband’s muscles still holding his cock in his hands, finally let the proud member go and fall down as it softened.

“Okay, at once!” he repeated, and soon they were clean and called the servants to remove the bathtubs, while they went to pick up something to wear.


Alassares had used his magic to make his brother’s and brother-in-law’s clothes large enough to fit their expanded bodies—”Also,” he guaranteed. “My enchantment will make your new size go unnoticed by others unless they look at you for too long.”

Oberion’s eyebrows rose in surprise, as he put on his clothes—his muscular bubble butt turned towards Alassares.

“Impressive. How did you find this enchantment?” he asked, and Alassares laughed as he also blushed a little.

“It is… a very useful piece of knowledge to have at the Academy, you know?” he replied, cryptically, and no more was made of the subject.

After he got dressed, Oberion tied the sword to Alecrias’s torso as they had planned—he found out, however, that nesting the blade in between his beloved’s pecs would be the ideal place for it to be held inconspicuously. After that was resolved, Alecrias also got dressed and the three men got down to the table, to fill their empty stomachs with the delicious cuisine while they talked. Eventually a servant came to tell them that their presence had been requested in the Emperor’s tent “by the end of the hour.” Certainly, it had to do with the sacrifice to be held soon.

“We still have forty minutes,” said Alecrias, still hungry. “We can eat comfortably and still make it on time,” the completed. Oberion agreed, and they continued eating cake and bread.

Alassares, however, started getting nervous—when could he find an opportunity to mix his potion in his brother’s food? Now the clock was ticking, and the effect of his potion would work better if it had at least an hour to settle down, so the sooner the better. Nervously, he called in for a servant, and a maid showed up.

“This soup, heat it for my Brother!” he ordered her, and Alecrias told him it was unnecessary, but Alassares insisted on having it be done.

The maid took the whole pot of soup back to the kitchen, heated it, and brought it back to them—this took her fifteen minutes, more or less. Fifteen excruciating minutes during which Alassares nervously looked back and forth between his brother and Oberion, trying to sound normal but managing only to sound even more suspicious. Fortunately for him, the other two men took his nervousness as a natural effect of their situation, not as a clue to his plans.

Finally, the maid brought the warmed-up soup, put it on the table and excused herself. Alassares got so relieved by the arrival of the hot strong-tasting dish, however, that he held the maid’s hands and thanked her, while taking a golden coin from his pocket and giving it to her. She, unsurprisingly, fell to the ground in a grovel, sobbed and—terribly afraid of receiving this much attention from the second prince—started to apologize and thank him both at once. Feeling bad, Alassares tried to help her up, but she wouldn’t bulge or even look towards his face, fearing what to her was the whims of the powerful—Alassares ended up having to call the guards to pick her up and escort her outside, while asking them to be sure that she was fine before letting her go, and repeating sincere apologies all the while.

“That was my coin you gave her,” joked Oberion, trying to lighten up the mood after that awkward situation—his comment also reminding Alassares that the young prince wore his own clothes.

“What? Do you want it back?” mocked the younger man, slowly becoming more comfortable again. “Regardless, you are my Brother’s husband now, so you owe my family a dowry, don’t you? I’ll take this coin as your dowry, as you seem to have taken the bracelets of Alecrim and Eraniel as his.” Oberion lifts his right arm, revealing the cuff around his wrist.

“I guess I cannot respond to that one,” he says, with a smile.

Alassares then stands up, takes a bowl, and, being careful to stand in such a way as to block his brother’s and Oberion’s line of sight with his own body, he empties the flask he had previously filled with his life-binding potion into the bowl. Then, he proceeds to mixing it with the hot soup, and, once the bowl is filled and its contents cannot be distinguished from the color of the soup, the second prince turned around and gave it to the Prince Imperial.

“Brother, please have this,” he says, and Alecrias is a bit surprised but takes the bowl filled with soup nonetheless. “I hope you two live long and healthy lives together, Brother. I am eager for the day I’ll serve under you, as I am certain you will be the best Emperor this country has had in a thousand generations!”

After that small speech, Alecrias was visibly moved and Oberion looked at him with a warm smile. Despite the improvement in the general mood of the room, Alassares looked determined and angry, unlike his brother—who seemed to be grateful and almost calm.

“Thank you, Brother. I am sure you will rise to all challenges destiny throws at you. You can count on me at every turn, even if it costs my life. I will have your back then as you have mine now,” responded the first prince, unaware of how his words sounded to his younger brother—who had to hold a sob as he heard them. Alecrias then raised the bowl and drank directly from it, as if it were not a nutritional soup, but a ritual drink—that is how much respect he was paying Alassares and his intentions.

After having finished drinking the soup and finally lowering the bowl, Alecrias’s face was hot and sweaty, but also visibly moved and surprised.

“It is so weird,” he voiced. “This soup reminded me of our childhood,” he said, and Alassares then couldn’t hold back from crying anymore.

Update posts:
Weekly Update: 23 October 2021Weekly Update: 6 November 2021

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