Chapter Text
Victor moaned as he slowly woke up from his sleep. The wet suction of Arden’s mouth on his cock was too much for him. He can’t be bother to keep quiet. He fisted the sheets, bucking his hips slightly. There was a slight give to Arden’s dark head between his thighs as the fey drew back with an impish glance, somehow able to smirk around Victor’s engorged member. He growled at the smirk, but his expression was affectionate. The affection turned to delirium when Arden hollowed out his cheeks, slowly going under as he retook more of Victor … until he could feel the glans hit the back of Arden’s throat.
It’s amazing what having no gag reflex could do.
Arden didn’t mind when he was occasionally rough during their couplings. It had been five days since they had arrived in Shadivari, and the nights during their journey to reach the Argent Palace were spent in fervent and passionate fucking.
There was a slight hesitancy on Victor’s side on the first night when he raised the question of the others hearing them. He actually couldn’t care less if the others heard—but he did not relish the prospect of meeting the eyes of the angelic Jorinda, or even staid, dependable Steve the next several mornings.
Arden’s solution had been to conjure a field of absolute silence around them. “Make as much noise as you want,” he had gasped when Victor had rammed himself inside him. The fey’s choked cry of pleasure as Victor cut loose just set him more and more on his path to chase his sweet release inside his lover’s body.
The second night found him on all fours, Arden’s tongue lapping at the tight pucker of his entrance. The fey’s clever tongue teased grunts and moans out of him, while his hands mapped out the muscular delineations of Victor’s legs, buttocks and back. Arden’s entry was gentle, almost reverent as he sank his length in Victor. Arden’s cock had a slight curve towards the top, the glans skating across the pleasure nub inside him as his lover slowly but inexorably increased the speed of his thrusts. Victor shouted his release, ropes of pearly ribbons streaking across the grass. On his chest. Even on his face. And he hadn’t even touched himself.
Now, in Arden’s bedchamber—the bed alone was large enough to fit four men of Victor’s size!—Victor luxuriated in the cresting waves of his orgasm. He came deep inside Arden’s mouth, the fey enthusiastically swallowing. The glottal muscles teased out spurts after another until Victor trembled, his hips twitching as his softening cock slipped from Arden’s lips.
“Good morning,” Arden smiled, kissing him on the mouth.
Victor tasted himself on the fey’s tongue when it snaked inside his mouth. He drew back and glanced at the windows. The silver light of the moon that shined down on this magical realm remained unchanged.
“Are you sure it’s morning?” he asked the fey teasingly.
Shadivari had been named the Land of Eternal Moonlight. In the five days he had been here, he could see that it was appropriately named. The realm does not experience true daylight in the classic sense of the word—just the constant presence of the moon. Only the warming of the temperature signals the difference between ‘day’ and ‘night,’ with night being much cooler.
On the third day—or night, as it were—after a pleasurable session of Arden riding his cock, when they were lazing around bathed in the afterglow of their coupling Victor pointed out the difference of temperatures.
“Come,” Arden said, standing up. Streaks of Victor’s seed trickled between the lean lines of his inner thighs, but he was unconcerned. He held out his hand to Victor who was still lying in the grass.
Victor grasped his hand, and felt himself dissipating … and reforming again at the top of a high cliff. From his vantage point, he could make out the light of their campfire. He was slightly unnerved at how close the spot Arden had picked for their tryst was to the campfire. Thank God for spells of silence.
“Look,” Arden had said, pointing to a lone mountain peak to their right. “That mountain is called the Shadowspire. The Argent Palace sits right at the top.”
"That’s where we’re headed, right?” he asked.
Arden nodded with a smile. He motioned to the mountain. “Watch,” he said.
The mountain remained shrouded by the shadows until slowly—almost imperceptible in its incremental change that one could miss it if it was not observed—there was a faint glimmer at the top peak of the mountain. It gently increased in brightness, until he could see the source of the glimmer was actually a large building. While he couldn’t say for certain, he guessed that that is the Argent Palace. The glimmer became a steady glow of gentle light, the nimbus slowly stretching from the top of the mountain peak to the land beyond. The area covered by the light seemed to be bathed in the soft light of an overcast sky. He could now see the difference of the overcast sky and the dark blue of the night.
“The realm circles the Shadowspire,” Arden explained. “The Palace reflects the light back onto the realm as it circles the mountain.”
" The warmth,” Victor guessed.
Arden’s answering ruffle of his hair was affectionate. “Back when I was younger, I sometimes come here to see the land being slowly bathed by the light,” Arden said with a wistful smile. “I was trying to escape my tutors, you see.”
“Not exactly a diligent student, huh?” Victor asked, wrapping his arms around Arden.
“No. I’m not the most biddable of students, I’m afraid,” Arden admitted ruefully with a small sigh. “My tutors despaired of ever making me even a passable student.”
“What changed?”
“Life.”
Victor pressed his naked torso against his lover’s back. “Thanks for sharing this with me,” he said, nuzzling Arden’s neck. “Do you think we can get back to our clothes?”
“Chilly?”
“A bit, yes,” Victor said with a small smile. “And you need help cleaning up,” he added, running his tongue along Arden’s neck.
Back in the present, Arden let out a small sigh and rose slowly from the bed. Wisps of shadowy tendrils snaked across his skin as he cleaned himself. Victor watched. He was transfixed by the play of liquid blackness running over Arden’s olive-complexioned form—an inventive use of his teleport abilities. He folded his hands behind his head, watching as the fey caused his outfit to snake across his body like water—it was like watching Venom’s symbiote as the dark grey linen shirt slowly covered him in swirls of forming fabric.
Fully dressed now in the dark grey linen shirt, black breeches and ankle boots, Arden stalked over to the bed to place a kiss on Victor’s brow.
“A king’s work is never done,” he murmured as he straightened back. “I’ll see you for lunch?”
“You can have me for lunch,” Victor said with a smirk.
He grinned wickedly at the heated look Arden gave him before the fey slipped out of the room.
He spent approximately close to a half hour lolling on the bed before deciding he felt like breakfast. He reached out and pulled the cord that would summon one of the servants. A young shadowfey in his late teens answered the summons. He nodded respectfully at Victor, listened to his request for breakfast and left with another nod. A few minutes later, three other shadowfey servants came with a selection of clothes, and a trolley of food—enough to feed even Steve, Victor noted.
After his breakfast of sausages, rolls and poached eggs, Victor availed himself to the bathroom adjoining the bedchamber. He was surprised when he first discovered that the palace had indoor plumbing. He knew that Natasha and Cargill would never admit it out loud but he was certain the two women had been relieved to learn that fact.
He was in his towel, drying his hair when the gentle knock came on the door.
“Come in,” he said.
The same shadowfey who had taken his order for breakfast entered. “Mister Barton to see you, my lord,” he said, with no trace of self-consciousness whatsoever at addressing Victor as a noble.
“Show him in,” Victor nodded with a small smile. “Thank you.”
Clint walked in, whistling as he took in the large bedchamber. “I guess Royalty has its perks, huh?” he wondered aloud.
“It has its moments, I guess,” Victor agreed. “What brings you here?”
“Adam asked if you’d like to join us for a run, a spot of hunting, and then lunch,” Clint answered, “in that order.”
Clint had managed to strike up an easy friendship with Adam El Maliki, one of the other fey who had accompanied Jorinda and Christabel. Arden had mentioned in passing that Adam had been the one who taught him how to ride, hunt and fight. Victor fought off a small nagging sense of wrongness at the information, deciding it was neither here nor there.
“ Us being who?” he asked.
“Just you, me and him,” Clint replied easily. “He said to dress light.”
“Got it,” Victor said, shrugging into a leather jerkin and breeches.
“Damn,” Clint swore. “Don’t leave much to the imagination, do they?” his tone was admiring.
Victor chuckled, enjoying the attention. “Come on,” he hurried the archer out of the room.
Adam was waiting for them near the stables. The muscular dark-haired fey was barely dressed—sporting only a leather body harness that criss-crossed over his shoulders and sides, and a pair of buckskin leggings cut at knee length. All on display, the werebeast was essentially Steve’s dark-haired duplicate.
“You’re not squeamish about hunting, are you?” Adam asked gruffly.
“Not at all,” Victor answered.
“Good,” Adam said with a quick jerk of his head. “Follow me.”
He handed them each a shortbow, a quiver of arrows and a backpack containing a small resin-crafted canteen, a loaf of bread and some dried fruit-and-nut mix.
“First, we are going for a run,” Adam announced as he took them to the exit behind the palace. The back portion of the palace abuts a long stretch of woodland and gullies. He gave them each a long look, resting finally on Victor. “Try to keep up,” he said with a wink.
And then he sped off. If he had not seen it, Victor would’ve said he had never seen anyone move as fast as the werebeast had been. The gauntlet had been thrown, Adam leaping and jumping across obstacles like a parkour artist on a mission. Victor allowed himself a smile. A glance at Clint showed the other man shared his sentiment.
“It is on,” Clint said as he sprinted for the trees. He did not bother with vaulting over obstacles—which Victor did with a relish—keeping low to the ground.
Victor’s lungs heaved, taking in gulps of the sweet cleansing air. He won’t deny that the clean air takes some getting used to here in the Feywilds, and that he was going to miss the taste of clear spring water. Throughout his run, he noted that most facets of the geography is similar to the geography of the material world—the Prime, as Arden had called it. He had mentioned that similarly, just as the geography is reminiscent, so too do its inhabitants and many creatures exist as fey "echoes" of the Prime creatures. Arden had also commented that arcane magic runs more freely and powerfully in the Feywild than it does in the Prime and it is for this reason that so many of its inhabitants are magically gifted. Bleeds of magical aether will seep into the prime, where those especially gifted can draw upon its powers and bend it to their will.
A snap of branches brought his attention to his left and he saw that Clint had managed to clear a deadfall by leapfrogging over it, the muscles of his thighs bunching with the effort. Victor started to combine both their approach, keeping low to the ground and doing leaps and vaults when the situation warrants it. Slowly, little by little, the two of them started gaining on Adam.
He saw Adam on top of a small knoll, its edge dropping off into a sheer drop. The werebeast just grinned at him as he neared, swan-diving into the drop. Victor gave a small cry, halting at the edge as he peered below—only to cartwheel back when the werebeast flew up on large golden wings sprouting from his back. Adam circled slowly, before coming down to land in front of him.
“You’re fast,” the werebeast complimented.
“Thanks,” Victor accepted the compliment with a smile.
The faint sound of brush parting heralded Clint’s arrival, close behind him. The archer’s face was red from his exertion, but he seemed pleased at the rush of physical activity.
“Clint,” Adam had directed his words to the archer. “Why don’t you see if you can scare us some game?”
“This is a test, isn’t it?” Clint asked shrewdly.
“You can say that,” Adam admitted. “You and Victor seemed quite taken with Arden, and he with you.”
“Does everyone knows this?” Victor griped.
“Just myself,” Adam shrugged. The motion made the large wings unfold slightly behind him. “Joining into the House Illirien, you need to make sure you can pull your weight.”
Victor bristled at the comment. The hard set of Clint’s jaws told him the archer did not find the statement agreeable either. “You make us sound like chattel,” Victor growled.
“Apologies,” Adam replied, a small frown on his face. “That was not my intention.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Clint hissed.
“We are creatures mired in tradition and forms,” Adam explained. “And being a creature of the elements, we are bound to our lands. The mantle of the king grants great power—along with the responsibility—and Arden is basically the embodiment of this realm. Its living, beating heart. As long as he lives, the realm will endure. His is the will, and the way.”
“Why are you telling us this?” Victor asked.
Adam shook his head. “I am probably handling this wrong …” he said, trailing off.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Clint grumbled.
Adam smiled wryly at the insult. “Let me try again,” he said with a small wrinkle to his nose. “The king is the head of the household—in a manner of speaking—and his consort his …”
“Assistant?” Victor ventured, supplying the term when he saw the werebeast struggling.
“Just so,” Adam nooded.
Victor and Clint traded glances. Clint started, “Are you saying that I am in the running of being heir apparent to a faerie kingdom?”
“Heir presumptive,” Adam corrected. He nodded at Victor. “ He is the heir apparent.”